Traditions are not Always Happy.
The house in the woods was quiet. Snow blanketed the ground outside, muffling sound, and the cold crept in through the cracks of the old wooden walls. Inside, Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, twirling a small bone between his fingers.
Teeth had gone hunting, disappearing into the dark of the forest like a shadow slipping between the trees. Harry didn’t expect him back for a while.
That left him here. Alone. Or rather—
Tom lounged in the chair across from him, watching with mild amusement as Harry methodically tied bits of bone, dried leaves, and twigs together with scraps of twine.
“What exactly are you doing?” Tom finally asked, voice edged with curiosity and faint disapproval.
Harry didn’t look up. “Decorating.”
Tom gave a slow blink. His gaze flickered over the scattered bones, the artfully arranged leaves, the tiny bits of skull perched on the shelf.
“…For Christmas?”
Harry hummed. “Something like that.”
Tom exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the worn wood of the chair. “Most people use things like holly. Mistletoe. *Not* carcass remains.”
Harry finally glanced up, an amused glint in his dark eyes. “I work with what I have.”
Tom’s lips curled. “Of course you do.”
A comfortable silence settled between them. Harry continued threading a small vertebra onto his twine, and Tom watched, his gaze drifting between Harry’s deft hands and the dim firelight flickering in the hearth.
After a moment, Harry spoke. “Did you celebrate Christmas?”
Tom scoffed. “The orphanage tried. It was nothing special.”
Harry nodded. He didn’t ask if Tom had gotten gifts, if anyone had cared enough to make the holiday mean something. He already knew the answer.
Instead, he looped the twine through another bone, securing it tightly. “I never got presents. Not from the Dursleys.”
Tom said nothing.
Harry continued, voice even. “I used to watch Dudley tear open gift after gift, mountains of them, and I’d get socks. Or a broken toy. One year, I got a single tissue.” He smirked slightly. “That was funny, actually.”
Tom tilted his head. “And yet, here you are. Decorating.”
Harry shrugged. “Tradition doesn’t have to be happy.”
For a moment, Tom simply watched him. Then, smoothly, he stood, moving toward the shelf where Harry had begun placing his makeshift decorations. He plucked up one of the small bone ornaments, turning it over in his fingers.
He didn’t say anything. But after a moment, he reached into his coat and pulled out something small. A deep red ribbon.
Wordlessly, he handed it to Harry.
Harry took it, fingers brushing against Tom’s for just a second. He looked down at the ribbon, then back up at Tom.
Tom smirked, but it was softer than usual. “Your decorations are *terrible.*”
Harry let out a short breath of amusement, then carefully tied the ribbon around one of the small bone ornaments. The red stood out starkly against the pale ivory.
Maybe tradition didn’t have to be happy. But maybe, just maybe, it could be something else.