Harry had put Tom to bed hours earlier, smoothing the blankets carefully over the small, slight shape curled beneath them until only a pale face and a tumble of dark curls remained visible against the pillow. The boy had been unusually clingy that evening, fingers tightening around Harry’s sleeve each time he shifted to leave, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep yet strangely intent, as though memorizing him. Harry had stayed longer than usual because of it, seated beside the bed with one hand resting lightly against Tom’s hair while rain clouds gathered thick and bruised beyond the manor windows.

Only once Tom’s breathing had finally evened out into slow, soft rhythms had Harry slipped away.

He did not go to his own room afterward.

Instead, he changed quietly, shrugging into darker clothes before pulling on a heavy coat. The manor remained silent around him as he descended the stairs, old floorboards creaking faintly beneath his steps. Portraits watched from their gilded frames with sleepy curiosity as he crossed the entrance hall. Outside, the night smelled damp and cold, the wind sharp against his face as he disappeared beyond the gates.

Hours passed.

Sometime after midnight, rain began in earnest, first as a soft tapping against windows before deepening into a steady downpour that swallowed the world beyond the estate in sheets of silver-grey haze.

When Harry finally returned, he was damp despite the protections woven into his coat, dark hair wet at the edges where rain had soaked through. The front doors groaned softly as he stepped inside, bringing with him the scent of stormwater and wet earth. He tossed his coat across the arm of a chair near the entrance, rolling stiffness from his shoulders before murmuring a drying spell beneath his breath. Warmth spread instantly through his clothes, steam curling faintly from the fabric.

Then he stopped.

The manor had gone unnaturally still.

At the far end of the hallway stood Tom.

The boy was motionless in the darkness, small and white against the shadows swallowing the corridor behind him. He wore only his nightclothes, the hem hanging loose around thin bare ankles, curls mussed from sleep. Moonlight filtered weakly through the tall windows nearby, painting his face in pale silver while leaving his eyes dark enough to appear almost red in the gloom.

He had not made a sound.

Harry did not know how long he had been standing there.

Tom simply stared at him.

Harry realized with a faint knot tightening in his chest that Tom must have woken hours ago and found his bed empty.

And instead of crying, instead of searching the manor in panic, he had waited.