This is short. This is also christmas fluff in the middle of June, and I don't really know why. You'll notice it has a different air to it, methinks, but that's because I haven't touched this story in months, ergo I cringe at my old writing, ergo I wanted to be smooth as fuck to impress you guys. I'm not sure it's working, but this has an insane amount of favourites/follows/reviews, so I supposed there's something I'm doing right. Y'all are amazing and I love you.

Disclaimer: If Harry Potter belonged to me everyone would have sleepovers all the time and invite Voldemort just so he could seeth in envy as all others got their hair braided, while he was sad and bald. Point is, I don't own Harry Potter, and that's a good thing.

It was New Year's Eve.

It was also, coincidentally, Tom's birthday, but the boy was very keen on not thinking about that. Little point in it, anyway; the only ones who knew about this was a short-tempered orphanage matron with breath smelling of alcohol and her helpers. He wasn't expecting a cake or candles to blow, and frankly, he would have been offended more than anything if they'd attempted to offer anything of the sort, not that it was likely.

But maybe, just maybe, the last day of the year could have had the decency not to become one of the worst. Tom rarely ever had good days- though, a bit more frequently in the course of the last two years, but this was another thought he refused to pay attention to- but today was exceptionally ridiculous. It seemed that the world had a habit of being as annoying as possible in the most inconvenient times.

Having fought with Harry was the icing on top of the cake, so to speak. Or, perhaps, their fight was exactly why everything seemed gloomy and terrible today. Well, in any case, more terrible and gloomy than usually. The list of thoughts that had to be pushed back and ignored was growing at an alarming rythm.

"Tom!"

And right on cue, there was the boy, choosing to appear at the exact time that his absense was required, if Tom hoped to clear his mind at all. He continued walking, hands stuffed in his pockets, as if he hadn't heard. There was no need to turn and face the other; the street was quiet and Harry's voice easy to recognize.

"Hey," his friend panted, jogging up to him. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, breathing uneven. "Tom, it's late. Really late. Almost midnight. We need to get back."

"You're free to return anytime you like. In fact, I strongly advise it," Tom bit out.

"It's good advice," Harry allowed, "but you honestly think I'm clever enough to follow it?"

"You are clever enough, but you are also exceptionally stubborn." And Harry needed to stop doing this stupid thing where his eyes lit up every time Tom paid him a compliment, didn't he realize how vulnerable he was making himself like this? Clever, clever idiot. "Still, one would think that through trial and error, you'd sooner or later learn."

It was trurly amazing how many times the boy could figuratively put his hand in a fire, and still expect next time the flames wouldn't burn him. Worse even, keep his hand steadily there and act like whether it burned or not was of no importance.

"Not happening. And since we both know you won't believe that, can we at least agree on not today? Here, I've got cake. I'll bribe you," Harry offered, presenting a squished, crumbled mass that might have been a dessert once.

Coincidence. It was a coincidence. Harry had no idea it was Tom's birthday; this wasn't birthday cake. He was able to grab some food, which was good, and it just so happened to be cake. It didn't mean anything. There was no reason for him to get a lump in his throat.

Tom stared at the cake for the longest time, then took it. "Your bribery is acknowledged and accepted. Were did you get this?"

"Met an old lady. Apparently, I look like her grandson, and her life mission is to make the kid chubby. She was very nice."

Ah, yes, of course. Harry, who made friends with nice old ladies. Harry, who would probably adopt every stray dog in the world if he was in the position to offer them anything. It all made sense now.

"...Is this your way of apologising?"

Harry fixed him with a flat, unimpressed look. "Is it yours?"

"...No."

"That's okay, I wasn't expecting an apology. I mean, you know, it's this thing friends do when they've been really mean to each other and they regret it, but hey."

"Oh, we're friends now?" Tom challenged, even though yes, they were. It was besides the point. "I don't recall ever saying that."

And it was really unfair that Harry, commonly starved for any sort of praise, full of self-doubt and repression, was apparently having a burst of confidence today. "You know, we really are."

The cake tasted funny, but Tom's birthday was actually not one of the worst days of the year anymore.

There was a very loud thump.

A very loud thump that was also completely uncalled for, and Tom didn't deign to startle awake because of it. He kept his eyes closed, grunting into the pillow, promising to himself that, whatever Harry was doing, if he didn't the volume very quickly, he'd hex the boy into next week.

It was only at a curse, followed by squeaked exclamation of "Alphard, you arse!" that he jolted up, eyes flying open to see his friend's upper half dangling off the bed, fingers curled into his blankets, that Black was pulling away with a grin so huge that his face could split in half. Tom hoped it would.

"Come on, rise and shine. Everyone's back, they're waiting for your lazy arse to get out of bed so we can all go for breakfast together," he urged. "Avery's pissed. But Avery's always pissed, and it's our first day back in school. Slytherins gotta present a united front."

"While I'm all for the team spirit," Tom drawled, Black's eyes snapping to him immediately, "I must admit I doubt destroying Harry's blankets it's going to be of much use. Harry, get up, you look ridiculous."

Harry gave a weak scowl, though, to be fair, it might have been a yawn too. Regardless, he crawled out of bed reluctantly, tugging back his blankets.

"Morning, Tom," Black greeted. Far too cheerful. Surely, uncalled for cheer justified a good curse. "Thanks for the help."

"Oh god, don't do that, he's cranky in the morning," Harry laughed. Tom really didn't know who he should be hexing first. It was far too early to deal with any of this. "We're up, Alph. Meet you guys down, okay?"

"Sure."

The moment Black's figure disappeared, Harry promptly fell back on the bed, blankets a scrambled mess around and below him. Like a child, really. Tom, being the mature person, dragged himself out to the cold and shoved his friend off.

"Get up. Have breakfast with the idiots or they won't shut up about it."

"You're coming too," the boy informed him, flashing a smile. "Our friends are back from their homes, and you're going to temporarily remove the stick from your arse to have a breakfast with the rest of us commoners."

Tom narrowed his eyes, expression dark enough to have grown men taking a step back, in surprise if not fear, but it was just like Harry not to play by those rules and remain blatantly unfazed. "They're not my friends, and if you ever refer to them as such in my presence again, I promise to you I will hospitalise them."

Inexplicably, Harry was smiling. "You know, they really are."