Becoming Brothers- scenes from ch4
Two more rough scenes from Becoming Brothers. These two would come just before the set posted last time.
December 31
“Yorkshire Pudding.”
“Yeah.”
“Where did you get Yorkshire Pudding?”
“I made it.”
“Why?”
Harry set the hot muffin tray on the stovetop, pushing the oven door shut with a wandless nudge. “To eat. Come get it before they go cold.”
Tom stayed by the door, casting skeptic glances into the room, as though expecting a dementor to come darting out of the pantry. “We’ve never had that before.”
Harry leaned back against the counter, scratching at his hair. “The house elves told me you like it,” he admitted sheepishly. Tom stiffened, now scowling outright. Harry stifled an exasperated sigh. “It’s something some families do. For birthdays. Make your favorite meal for lunch or dinner.” He shrugged. “Happy thirteenth, Tom.”
“So you’re too cheap for presents?”
“There’s also one present,” Harry said, going for a dry tone and hoping he’d pulled it off. In reality he was holding on to his temper by his fingernails, but he didn’t care to ruin hours of work on a meal only for it to go bad while they argued. “You can open it after we eat.”
“Yorkshire pudding is not my favorite.” Harry knew that tone. It was the one Tom used when he just felt like being contrary, and Harry was not going to let it get to him. Yorkshire Pudding took too much effort, damnit.
Tom’s eyes caught on something else that was sitting on the counter. “Roast? And gravy?”
“Yes.”
Tom straightened, stepping regally into the kitchen. “Oh. Perhaps I’ll have some, then. Just a little. Thank You,” he added, more quietly, and Harry relaxed.
OoOoO
He was being watched. Again.
Harry’s pen scritched across the page, filling in another line of notes before coming to a stop.
This was the third time in as many days. Ever since Tom’s birthday. Harry hadn’t said anything, because so far as he could tell, Tom wasn’t actually doing anything. Just watching.
But it was making that spot right between his shoulders itch like mad, which was in turn giving him a headache, and he was trying to study. Less than a month to go until he sat his NEWT’s.
Harry tapped his muggle pen against the open pages of a book on advanced transfiguration.
“If you’re going to watch me, Tom, you’ll have to be a bit less obvious about it.”
There was no movement that he could see. No rustle of cloth on cloth. But the persistent itch between his shoulders faded away. Harry scratched a hand through his hair and forced his mind back to its work.