"Get up before you sleep through your shower time."
Harry groaned and sank deeper into the covers. Tom threw the covers off of him and Harry yelped as cold air enveloped his body. Harry opened his eyes, squinting at a freshly-showered Tom with his wet hair.
"Mmmhrg," muttered Harry, wishing he was smothering his face in the sheets as he sat up and stretched his arms.
"The clock is ticking."
Harry narrowed his eyes at their clock. It read half past seven. His assigned shower block was from 7:40 to 7:50. He snatched his glasses and adjusted them on his face, scrambling off the bed.
"Keep talking and I'll be all out of time," Harry muttered snidely, rushing to gather his toiletries.
Tom ignored him.
Harry spun around and frowned at Tom, holding his shower caddy (really, it was just a battered cardboard box) and towel.
Whatever. I don't have time for his antics.
Not wanting to waste more time, Harry rushed to the second year bathroom, groaning internally when he saw it was occupied. Through the opened door, Selwyn was busy brushing his teeth. A sore sight for sore eyes. Selwyn gave him the stink eye in the mirror as Harry entered scowling.
Putting down the box, Harry grabbed his shampoo and hung his towel on top of the shower door as he entered the sixth shower stall. After a short wash, he reached out and slung the tower around his waist. Thankfully, Selwyn had left.
Walking to his box, he returned the shampoo and glanced around again. Tom was entering as well, no doubt intent on fixing his hair. Somehow, Tom's sauntering into the bathroom deepened the scowl on Harry's face. Harry reached into the box and fumbled around until he found a smooth plastic pot. Brylcreem.
Brylcreem was a muggle pomade that Tom and Harry used on a daily basis, because, well, looks were everything in Slytherin. And because Tom wouldn't be caught dead using something so disgustingly muggle, he waited until no one was in the bathroom—after Harry's shower block (breakfast began at eight)—to style his hair.
Harry hurried over to the sink at the far end and unscrewed the lid. Lifting out a dime sized amount, he toyed with the product, unwilling to hand it over to Tom's outstretched hand. At Tom's impatient flat expression, he sighed sharply through his nose, glaring from the corner of his eye as he shoved the Brylcreem into Tom's palm.
Harry glowered and massaged the product into his hair, combing it to the side. He watched as Tom did the same whilst staring intensely into the mirror and inspecting his looks. Oddly enough, the sight of his friend made something twist unpleasantly in Harry's chest, and he had to take a long, slow breath to calm himself.
Christ, Harry thought, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. Why am I so annoyed with Tom today?
In a great rush, Harry quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth. Because they were assigned the last two slots on the shower schedule, they usually had the bathroom to themselves. The isolation was an undoubted blessing, but it meant that every day was a struggle to be on time to breakfast, which began only ten minutes after Harry's shower finished.
Harry hurriedly gathered all of his supplies and hastily shoved them back into the box. Sprinting to his dorm with his towel in one hand and shower caddy in the other, he set them down, changed into his underclothes, and shrugged his robes on. He grabbed his wand and bag, and he shut the door tightly and ran to meet Tom, who was waiting for him at the end of the hallway.
Irritation pulling his brows into an angry furrow, Harry forced himself to keep pace with Tom's quick steps to Great Hall, which was filled by loud chatter and hushed whispers. But when he found a familiar head of close-cropped strawberry blond hair in the crowded corridor, Harry's eyes brightened.
"Lawrence!" Finally a face that wasn't Tom. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck with his childhood friend in the inevitable breakfast traffic stop at the doors. Moving quickly to catch Lawrence, Harry passed Tom without a glance.
Lawrence turned around, eyes widening at the sight of Harry, before a wide smile stretched across the soft planes of his face. Harry felt his own eyes crinkle in response.
"Oh, hey! I feel like it's been too long," Lawrence said, hiking his bag up his back.
"Yeah, for sure. I've just been so busy lately," Harry said. "So, how are things?"
"The same, honestly." Lawrence gestured—or tried to, what with the space being so cramped—at the students briefly placing their wand on top of a wand identifier to mark their presence at breakfast. "Including the breakfast line."
Students had to check in for breakfast and mark themselves present at the little wand stands before they could enter the Great Hall. Unfortunately, there were never enough wand stands, and as such, the lines were always killer. Harry guessed that he didn't start eating breakfast until at least ten minutes had passed.
"Some things never change," Harry griped. "You'd think they'd learn how to get rid of the long lines by now."
Lawrence sighed. "Well, wizards haven't got an ounce of logic."
Tom shouldered past him, and Harry frowned, setting his wand down and picking it up as the stand chirped.
"Is Tom alright?"
"Yeah, we've just been a little snappy these past few days," he said, walking into the Great Hall at last.
Lawrence nodded hesitatingly.
"Did you..." He bit his lip. "Did you want to sit with me today?"
Harry paused, suddenly aware of how they were standing between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.
He wanted to sit with Lawrence, but... Tom. And Slytherin. He could only imagine the amount of grief Tom would give him if he didn't sit with him. Tom would talk off his ear for "ruining their reputation". But he also didn't want to put up with the odd aggravation of sitting with Tom.
It was a hard choice.
"Sure, I'd love to!" Harry replied brightly.
Lawrence patted the seat next to him. "No one sits here—" Harry's heart twinged slightly, "—but at least it's always open!" Lawrence said excitedly.
Harry slid into the open seat, seeing Tom walk stiffly to the Slytherin table by himself.
"So," Harry began, "have you found any new cigarette cards to add to your collection?"
"Yeah, I finally finished the Player's Coronation Series. My brother found the last card I needed, the Archbishop of Canterbury."
"That's really nice of him to give it to you!" Harry said, ignoring the stares from the arriving Ravenclaws.
"Everyone knows it's a huge hobby of mine," said Lawrence, shrugging bashfully.
"Don't be ashamed of liking what you like."
Lawrence gave a wide, gummy smile, and Harry couldn't help but grin back.
"I'm serious."
"I know," said Lawrence very seriously.
Harry stirred his bowl of porridge, letting himself fall into the conversation, grinning and laughing as breakfast continued. It was nice to relax and not have to act so composed all the time.
As the owls entered the Great Hall in great numbers, Lawrence waved at two owls, one with the Daily Prophet and the other with the Daily Express. Lawrence took both newspapers before grabbing a couple of Muggle and magical coins and placing them in the small pouch of each. While he unfurled the newspaper, Lawrence knitted his brows.
"Hitler and Mussolini discuss peace in Austrian border..." Lawrence trailed off. "Not Italy!"
"Why not?"
"My mother is Italian. I don't want to think about what could happen to her if Italy joins Germany. God knows how we look at Germans nowadays."
"I'm sure she'll be alright," Harry said reassuringly.
"She should be, but I fear the worst happening to her of no fault of her own."
Not soon after, breakfast finished, and Harry picked up his bag and walked to the exit. Midway, Tom caught up to him, slightly elbowing him. The motion was lost amidst the throng of students trying to exit.
"Don't do that again," Tom said in a low voice.
Harry stared flatly at Tom, ducking to avoid a stray arm flying in his direction. "It's one meal."
"One meal where I had to suffer alone with the other Slytherins. How do you think they see us now? First the duel, and now, you leave me. Your lack of support is shameful."
They didn't think much of you anyways, Harry thought but refrained from saying so. The crowd swelled, squeezing them closer together.
"It's just a one time thing."
"It better be."
Later that night, Harry was walking back with Tom to their dormitory when his sleeve accidentally brushed against Avery's in the cramped hallways. Avery shuddered and shook off his sleeve, taking great care to exaggerate flicking away "mudblood filth."
Fucker.
Harry didn't bother hiding his scowl and reached inside his robes for his wand. But before he drew his wand, Tom pulled him into their room and shut the door. Tom cast a silencing spell and turned to face Harry.
"What were you thinking?" Tom asked, sounding scandalized.
Harry crossed his arms. "What I should have done ages ago."
"Oh yes, because dueling Avery in the middle of the hall is the best solution you could have thought of. Absolutely brilliant," Tom said sarcastically.
Harry glared at Tom and felt something inside him erupt. "Stop patronizing me. After all, you're the one that got me into this mess," he hissed.
I miss the cloak, Harry thought suddenly as a fierce sense of longing washed over him.
That's why he was angry at Tom. Because Tom lost his cloak.
Something in Harry broke a little at the realization.
Tom flared his nostrils, rolling his wand around in his palm. "Harry, you're being unreasonable."
In a somewhat juvenile manner, Harry pointed his finger at Tom. It shook slightly as he spoke. "I have every right. You LOST my cloak!"
Tom hesitated before he spoke, clearly trying to be tactful in his response.
"It was an oversight."
Harry snorted. "No, no, no. It was more than a simple oversight."
Tom raised his hands in a placating manner. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened, but I can't take back what's already done. And we need to focus our attention on Black."
Harry was stunned into silence. His words failed him, dying in his throat as he prepared to speak. Seeing Tom's cautiously optimistic face, Harry resisted the vicious urge to scream that clawed at his esophagus.
The fucking audacity.
Tom thought this was a matter that they could brush off where Tom would pull a solution out of his ass and they'd both pretend like it never happened. As if. As if Harry would forgive Tom just because he used the word "sorry" in a half-assed apology.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry asked through clenched teeth, "Did you lose my cloak?"
At Tom's hesitation, Harry's glare increased tenfold, and Tom dipped his head down minutely.
"At least admit that you caused this fucking trainwreck. This isn't just a random accident you can brush off! You lost my cloak."
"I'm sorry; I understand that I was clearly in the wrong," Tom said soothingly, fully in damage control mode now.
Harry hissed, spitting out each word, "Not 'was', 'is'. You are still in the wrong. Yet you refuse to admit it even when it stares you in the face! And don't start with your 'understanding'. You. Understand. Nothing. The cloak was mine. Mine to use, mine to cherish. Mine."
Harry had always been less materialistic than Tom, but he still cherished what was his.
"You officially lose ALL borrowing privileges until you figure out how to get the cloak back. Including notes and supplies," Harry said, straightening his posture in his resolution.
Tom immediately began protesting, "You can't do that, we share practically everything, we don't even have separate piles for half of our things!"
"Well, I'll make separate piles then. If you can't take care of my items, you don't deserve to use them."
Tom shot Harry a withering glare. "So be it. Then I suppose you can get by just fine without homework help."
Harry laughed, his head tipping back as the sound bounced harshly off the stone walls of the small alcove. He didn't care. "I don't need your help on homework. I don't need your help in anything!"
Tom sneered. "See where that attitude gets you."
The atmosphere over the next couple of days was unbearably tense, but Harry refused to make amends. Tom was snappish, taking any and all opportunities to snap back at Harry. During those times, Harry debated whether Tom was worse when he was passive-aggressive or just plain aggressive. Man, Harry had forgotten how much of an asshole Tom was when he fell out of favor.
But then again, Harry wasn't any better.
Their mutual frigidity almost impressed him. Harry followed through with his threat and separated their materials. Tom refused to talk to him that day when he had found out he had his own quills and parchment. It wasn't that Harry had anything that Tom wanted—Tom had lost the cloak—but just the idea of it. Of being denied access. It rankled Tom's sense of entitlement, and it showed. They barely talked, barely walked together, and still ate together by necessity but refused to look at each other.
Undoubtedly, the other Slytherins noticed. Harry was certain they were quite perplexed about it.
But that did not mean they abandoned each other. Far from it.
When Harry's last class finished, he walked out of the classroom, avoiding Tom. But a couple minutes later, Harry heard some muffled noises that sounded like Avery. Creeping closer, Avery and Selwyn had cornered Tom in an abandoned corridor.
"Where's your mudblood friend, eh?" taunted Avery. "Too ashamed to be seen with filth like you after you lost?"
Harry rushed to stand beside Tom, scowling at the bullies. His shoulders were tense as he reached back to withdraw his wand and warned, "Leave."
Avery sneered, reaching for his own wand before abruptly stopping. He tilted his head to Selwyn.
"Did you hear something?" he asked loudly, hand still halfway in his robes. He cupped his other hand to his ear, exaggerating the motion.
"Hurry along, boys," a stern voice echoed down the hall.
Harry bit his lip. Goddamnit, it's Dumbledore.
Sure enough, when he turned around, Dumbledore was looking at the four of them with a pursed expression.
"Boys, I expect there not to be any trouble," he said curtly.
Harry lowered his head bashfully. "Yes, professor," muttered Selwyn.
Regarding Harry coolly, Avery walked away. Harry and Tom walked in the opposite direction, heading to their dormitory together.
They walked quickly past the common room, Harry avoiding the eyes that automatically landed on him and Tom.
When they finally reached their room, Harry collapsed onto his chair.
"Fucking Avery," groaned Harry, who was rubbing his eyes.
"I'll gut that son of a bitch one of these days," Tom hissed.
Harry stopped rubbing his eyes and squinted at his seething roommate.
'll pull out his fingernails one by one, then cut off his pinkies..."
Harry scoffed, but said nothing. He resolved to ignore Tom's seething, focusing instead on rubbing the tension out of his shoulders.
"—should make his potion explode during potions today."
Harry's hands froze. "You can't do that."
"I'll get revenge however I please," Tom snapped.
Harry stood up to face him, pushing his chair back. "No. You aren't getting any revenge."
"And why not?" Tom asked, arching his brow.
"Because it's not yours to take," said Harry evenly, keeping steady eye contact.
Tom shook his head back and forth slowly. "You lost that particular privilege when you tried attacking Avery in the open. I could barely restrain you."
"Nobody was there, and I controlled myself."
Tom gazed coolly at him. "You can't be trusted to get revenge. Let me handle it. I'll even let you help me, if you wish."
Harry closed his eyes, breathing slowly and clenching and unclenching his hands. "You're preventing me from taking revenge when I am infinitely more justified than you. Avery didn't blow a potion in your face and cause lasting scars, now did he?"
He opened his eyes into a heated glare. His hand slashed through the space between them. "You don't get to tell me what I should or shouldn't do."
"I'm not." Tom's jaw clenched. "I just know that I can make Avery suffer now. If you just listened to me—"
Harry threw his arms up in the air. Good God. "This is exactly the shit I told you to stop doing! Stop telling me how to live my fucking life. I know with absolute certainty that I want to see him suffer more than you do."
Harry licked his lips before continuing on. "If you really respect me as a person, not just your number one supporter, then you'll back off and let me take revenge by myself."
Tom hesitated. "Harry, be reasonable."
"I'm being perfectly reasonable. This revenge is mine to take."
"You're being highly unreasonable. We share the same hatred of Avery. I don't understand why you refuse to let me help you." Tom hated nothing more than being denied what he thought he was entitled to.
"No. I'm getting revenge by myself." Harry relished how the words flowed off his tongue smoothly. "If you're actually sorry, you'll step back."
"You'll regret your plan."
"I regret letting you borrow my cloak at all."
As Tom reared back, Harry interrupted him. "And don't even think about trying to interfere."
Tom soured, knowing he had lost. "Fine," he sneered. "But mark my words, you'll come back begging me to help."
Harry scoffed, remaining quiet. Tom's statement didn't deserve a response.
Having corralled Tom into very reluctant agreement, Harry planned his solo revenge. It was tricky: the scheme couldn't be so overt and blatant as to point directly at him as the instigator. That would only ostracize him further. Unfortunately, that meant that any extra painful or humiliating scheme was impossible.
After deliberating for many days, Harry thought of the perfect scheme.
----- ----- -----
"Today you all will individually brew the Hair-Raising Potion," Professor Snape said, swishing his wand. A numbered list of directions appeared on the board.
Harry copied the instructions from the board, taking note of the ingredients. Rat tails, porcupine quills, billywig stings...
Hm. This could work.
He collected the ingredients, then set up his workspace. Harry added enough standard potioning water to fill his flask halfway, then stirred in essence of comfrey. When it fully disappeared, Harry turned on the heating.
A covert glance across his shoulder showed that Avery had also turned on his heating.
Perfect.
Harry snuck his wand under the desk and pointed it in Avery's direction.
He whispered, "Noli transferre ardorem." Do not transfer the heat. The spell acted on the cauldron, preventing the heat from transferring to the mixture inside as effectively.
Next to him, Tom's gaze flicked over before going back to his cauldron. Harry returned his attention to his own potion, stirring the lightly bubbling mixture.
Near the end of class, Professor Snape said, "The bell will ring in ten minutes. Put your potions on my desk and clean up."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Avery minutely twitch. Avery's potion was nowhere near the neon green hue it was supposed to be; it was a pale green shade. Harry grinned inwardly at the proof of his sabotage.
Bottling his mixture, he handed in his potion, a vibrant green color, placing it next to countless others on Professor Snape's desk.
"Acceptable, Peters." High praise, really.
WIth giddy glee, he walked to his seat and sat down, watching Avery walk to the front desk, robes covering his potion. Professor Snape critically observed Avery's product as Avery revealed his half-finished potion. He dismissively waved his hand, and Avery scurried back to his seat.
Professor Snape would never admonish a Slytherin in public. But in a private setting, Professor Snape was sure to let loose his disappointment.
Over the rest of February and through March, Harry systematically sabotaged each of Avery's potions, also including Selwyn when the two worked together.
It worked because it was an unconventional form of sabotage. Most times when Slytherins sabotaged others, they caused a few flashy incidents with great harm and spectacle. However, Harry carried out his sabotage by ruining Professor Snape's opinion of Avery through a constant stream of small acts.
His sabotage focused on decreasing the quality of Avery's potions from perfection to mediocrity. Potions was Avery's best class, meaning he curried favor with Snape by being a top Slytherin. However, Avery lost that favor as soon as he became mediocre.
And with Harry's uncommon method of sabotage, Avery could not prove that his performance was being hampered by others. There was no way to trace who added more ingredients than necessary, stirred the mixtures in the wrong direction, or adjusted the heating to the incorrect intensity. After all, these were common second year mistakes.
Even if Avery could prove his innocence, Professor Snape would, at best, scoff at Avery's inability to stop it from happening. Either way, Avery lost his high opinion with Professor Snape.
Harry didn't know whether Professor Snape could tell that Avery's newfound mediocrity was due to sabotage. Sometimes, Professor Snape would briefly glance at Harry after hiding a grimace at Avery's potions—as if he knew. Still, it was of no consequence to him. Professor Snape either unconsciously or consciously let him get away with it as the weeks passed.
Slowly, Tom accepted the situation as what it was. Tom could hold a grudge for an infinite period of time, but Harry supposed Tom was at least satisfied by his revenge. Tom began integrating himself back into Harry's life, talking to him more often, extending their conversations, and even initiating conversations. As an olive branch, Harry allowed the attempts and even reshared most of his items except for a broken quill that belonged to Tom. Really, he kept it for himself more as a joke than anything—Tom would have thrown the offending item out if Harry hadn't filched it from his pile. Soon enough, they were back to sitting together and chatting easily.
But they had both left the situation with a greater understanding of the other. In retrospect, Harry felt that he acted too harshly toward Tom (though for understandable reasons). Meanwhile, Tom learned to treat Harry's items with the utmost respect, which was quite funny when it was a piece of parchment. Nonetheless, it still warmed Harry's heart.
Harry didn't doubt that Tom would always be slightly patronizing or easily angered. But Tom was trying. He was working on his less favorable traits for Harry.
Harry couldn't have asked for anything more.
In a free period Harry shared with the other second year Slytherins, Harry and Tom were two of the few that traveled to the library. They found their usual spot in the back and watched Avery enter.
Not long after Avery sat down, he was summoned by the librarian. Straining to hear the librarian's words, Harry suppressed his smile. Only would Avery get caught bringing food into the library. It was too bad that the library was near-empty; not many people would witness Avery's public humiliation.
While Avery's ears reddened the longer the librarian glared at him, Harry noticed that Avery's unfinished assignments lay strewn on his desk: a quill lay atop an unfurled roll of parchment, as well as a couple rolls of parchment, one of which was his Transfiguration essay resting on top of his Transfiguration textbook.
Quite conveniently, Transfigurations was next, and the essay was due today.
Grabbing a couple rolls of blank parchment, Harry slipped them into his sleeve. He got up from his chair and walked over to the bookshelves near Avery's desk. Taking his time, he began browsing the books with one hand as he draped his sleeve across the table. He had never been more grateful for such expansive robes. Using his covered hand, he slipped the blank roll onto the Transfiguration textbook and picked up Avery's essay.
Harry picked out a book and carried it with him back to his place beside Tom, sliding back into his seat. He cautiously peeked at Avery, who was apologizing to the librarian.
Good. Harry resisted the urge to smirk.
Harry picked up his quill and began working on his own assignments as Avery returned to his seat. The rest of the time, Avery did not appear to notice that his Transfiguration essay was replaced. Instead, Avery resumed working on his already opened assignment.
When Tom cocked his head at him, Harry relaxed back into his seat.
"I still don't need your help, you know."
Tom shrugged and picked up his book.
When the bell rang, Harry watched with great satisfaction as Avery hurriedly crammed his assignments into his expensive schoolbag. Including the blank roll of parchment.
In the halls, Harry muttered to Tom, "Dumbledore's going to be so pissed."
Tom inclined his head, a smirk lightly spreading across his lips.
Indeed, Dumbledore was pissed.
"Welcome, class. Unroll your essays and pass them up," Professor Dumbledore said as he flicked his wand, shutting the door.
Avery was also in the front row, just in the middle. Harry savored Avery's blanched expression as he unfolded his essay to find a blank parchment. He tried to slide it under the pile, but Professor Dumbledore tapped his wand against his desk.
"Trying to turn in a blank parchment, Avery?" Dumbledore levitated the pile of essays to him and showed the class Avery's essay.
Avery remained silent. At least he knows not to argue against the obvious, Harry mused.
Dumbledore thinned his lips. "Detention on Saturday."
"Sir, please, we're playing Hufflepuff this weekend!" Avery protested.
"More the reason to have done your work then."
Avery sank into his seat, barely hiding his unpleasant expression. Harry suppressed the smile that threatened to burst across his face.
For once, it was satisfying when Dumbledore's prejudice against Slytherins shifted away from Harry and Tom to Avery.
Yet, Harry still didn't feel fully satisfied. He missed the cloak. No amount of revenge could make up for it.
He made up his mind. On Saturday night, Harry lay in bed, breathing in and out evenly as he fantasized about how to get the cloak back. "Tomorrow morning, I need your help."
"For what?"
"Stealing the cloak back."
"How? I can't think of any possible methods that won't result in us getting caught."
"Avery sneaks out on Hogsmeade weekends," Harry said.
"And?" Tom replied. "Everyone knows that."
"So tomorrow morning, we distract him as he's leaving the dorm."
Tom yawned. "The chance that he'll be distracted enough to not close the door is slim."
"We should at least try," Harry said. "I won't go back to the orphanage knowing we didn't try."
Harry heard Tom shuffling his bedsheets around before relaxing. "Fine."
The following Sunday morning, Harry and Tom waited behind their door, ready to open it at the slightest creak. It was well before breakfast, and no one but Avery would be up at such an ungodly time on the weekend.
A soft creak echoed. Harry nodded at Tom, and they opened the door. Tom made a grand motion of rubbing his eyes as he bumped into Avery, who snapped, "Watch where you're going, mudblood."
Tom sneered in response and backed up a few steps. Avery followed, walking forwards and reaching for his wand. Tom drew his own wand, and the both of them edged to the front of the hall. Avery had his back to his dorm, and Tom fired a spell. Noticing Avery beginning to fire back, Harry, who had been sneaking past both of them, slipped through the door and closed it.
He just hoped that their hallway duel was quiet enough not to wake anyone.
Inside, he glared at Selwyn, who was still sleeping soundly on his bed.
"Dormire." The pale blue spell hit Selwyn, who immediately began snoring deeply. Good. Selwyn wouldn't remain asleep forever, but long enough that he could search through their room for the cloak.
He scanned the room, feeling a warmth at the back of his mind ebb and flow. He walked closer to Avery's side of the room, and the warmth increased. Walking backwards, the warmth diminished.
It's like a game of Hunt the Thimble.
Walking back and forth, he stopped in front of Avery's briefcase. Crouching down, the warmth was at an all time maximum, surrounding his body, not just a slight sensation in the far corners of his mind anymore. Wiping the hair next to his temple, his finger felt wet. Sweat.
Harry placed his fingers on the locks and tried flicking them up. He could feel them bending under his fingers, but they still remained stubbornly shut. Frowning, he used more force, doing his best to pry the damn thing open as sweat dripped down his face.
Just fucking open!
To his surprise, the locks clicked open with a soft sound. Zeroing in on the silvery grey material inside the trunk, Harry gently removed the cloak and hugged it close to his body, uncaring that he was probably getting it sweaty.
Holding it in his hands, the heat paradoxically grew more intense and yet abated; it felt wonderful and warm and snug, but it wasn't making him sweat.
Harry rearranged the insides of the trunk to make it look as it did before, then he closed and relocked it. Picking up his wand, he walked to the door and pressed his ear to the wall. Hearing no sounds that would indicate a duel was ongoing, Harry donned the cloak, grinning at his absence in the mirror, and opened the door.
Slipping out, he quickly closed the door and entered his and Tom's room. Tom was sitting at his desk, and he swiveled his head in Harry's direction when the door opened, raising a single brow.
Once inside, Harry shut the door and removed the cloak, placing it on Tom's desk.
"Look!" Harry crowed. His eyes were alight with joy and the lingering comfort of having been holding the cloak.
Tom ran his hands across the cloak, muttering, "I didn't think we would ever get it back..."
"Well, I did."
Tom raised his head and smiled. He rested his hand atop the cloak, palm facing upwards. His fingers seemed to reach towards Harry. Harry grinned back, his hand settling across from Tom's, fingertips just barely pressing against the other boy's.
"And before I forget," Harry's free hand reached back to dig around in his desk, "here's your broken quill back."
Tom stared distastefully at the mangled, twisted thing that Harry was holding up, but nonetheless dutifully said, "Thank you."
Harry grinned as Tom put the broken quill on his bedside.
"You're welcome."
Harry felt very, very content.