The Slip
The house had settled into its usual quiet rhythm. The shadows on the walls seemed to stretch longer as the day gave way to night, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth. Harry sat in the same spot he had grown accustomed to—his legs tucked beneath him, his gaze distant, his thoughts circling something deep inside him that he couldn’t quite articulate.
Tom was, of course, present, ever the calculating figure that hovered just beyond the firelight. Teeth, as always, rested near them, his hulking form casting an ominous shadow in the corner.
The tension between them had become somewhat... normal, in a strange way. But as much as the dynamic had settled into an uneasy truce, Harry still wore his mask. The walls were always there—his sharp wit, his calm composure. He wasn’t sure if he could ever completely drop it, but maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that had longed to do so.
Tonight, however, it happened by accident.
Harry hadn’t realized it at first—how quickly his words came, how easily the conversation flowed from topic to topic without the weight of calculated pauses and guarded expressions. But it was Tom’s question that caught him off guard, the kind of inquiry that usually made Harry retreat into his shell.
“Why do you insist on keeping everything so...” Tom trailed off, clearly searching for the right word. “...cold? Why do you never laugh or act your age?”
Harry blinked, feeling the question strike deeper than he’d expected. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his smile appearing almost effortlessly. It was a bright, unguarded expression—something that Tom wasn’t accustomed to seeing from him.
“I don’t know,” Harry said with a small, childish giggle that escaped before he could stop it. He quickly clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening slightly. “I guess I just... forget sometimes how to be normal. You know, like a kid again?”
Tom’s eyes widened, the tiniest flash of disbelief crossing his usually composed face.
“I mean, sure, you wouldn’t get it, right?” Harry continued, clearly growing more animated. “I was always busy growing up, taking care of myself. And then I had to figure out how to survive here, and... well, you don’t really have time to laugh when your life is a mess, do you? But—” He stopped himself abruptly, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous gesture he rarely allowed himself.
For a moment, he caught himself in the slip—the slip that had revealed a side of him he never meant to show. The bright, almost too-innocent child, so eager to engage, to chatter about things that were far too carefree for someone in his position.
It wasn’t something he had expected. Tom hadn’t been prepared for Harry to suddenly become... warm.
“You’re... laughing,” Tom remarked, his voice as neutral as ever, but there was an edge of confusion in it.
Harry paused, and then, almost self-consciously, he let out another small laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to. I guess it just slipped out. Sometimes... I forget that I’m allowed to feel like this.” He looked down at his hands, the sudden weight of awareness settling on him. “It’s like... for so long, I wasn’t allowed to be anything other than what people expected of me. I’ve been too careful. But... when I get to talk about things that aren’t heavy, things that aren’t always serious, it feels nice.”
Tom’s gaze was fixed on Harry now, not with his usual calculating intensity, but with a distinct sense of something closer to disbelief. He’d never seen Harry like this—so carefree, so... childlike. His usual mask had crumbled, and in its place was something raw, something unguarded. Harry was allowing himself to simply *be*.
Harry’s eyes flitted back to Tom’s face, his smile widening just a little more. “I guess you’re right. I’m not always so cold. I just... didn’t know I could act any other way, I guess. It’s not something I’m used to.”
Tom didn’t speak immediately. He stared at Harry for a long moment, absorbing the change. The ease with which Harry had shifted was unsettling, but there was also something undeniably human about it. Something vulnerable, like a fleeting glance at something too pure to be held for long.
“So, you do know how to act your age,” Tom said finally, though his tone wasn’t quite as detached as before. There was a hint of something else in it—an undercurrent of fascination.
“I guess I do, but it’s... hard to remember sometimes,” Harry replied, his voice softer now.
It was then that Harry realized how light his heart felt, just from letting the mask fall, just from being this... bright, this childlike version of himself. For a brief moment, he wasn’t the chosen one or the broken soul; he was just Harry, the kid who liked to talk about silly things and feel warmth in a world that often felt too cold.
But it was only a moment. And he knew that, sooner or later, the mask would return.
Still, for tonight, for now, he allowed himself to smile with the brightness of a child who didn’t yet know the weight of the world.