The door closed behind them with the soft snap of the latch and Tom Senior fell back against it with a sigh, undoing his tie to free his collar and allow himself a better avenue through which to breathe.
"A nightcap, son?"
He glanced over at his father, already half-way up the stairs, and shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm just going to head to bed after checking in with mother about how Junior behaved."
"Very well, then. Good night."
In honesty he was just glad that the business deal was done and over with. He never had been very good with that manner of thing: not nervous, per say, just never good. Lacking the 'flare' for it. He'd essentially played shadow man as his father had talked, putting in a few words edgewise only when he had no other choice but to do so. Undoing the first two buttons of his shirt and toing off his shoes, he headed up the stairs.
His mother was sitting in the den with the album full of pictures from his youth sitting open in her lap.
"Mother," he said, "how was Junior while father and I were away?"
"Well behaved, as always. Stayed shut up in his room most of the day but we had a nice conversation about two hours ago." She said. "I showed him your baby pictures after he calmed down."
"Calmed down?"
"He had a nightmare, darling. I found him in your room; I think he may have gone back to wait for you instead of returning to his own room." She closed the album and set it aside on the couch. "The poor dear was in quite a state; in tears and shaking something terrible. Had me go through every station on the radio to check for news about London. Something about another bombing. I think he was afraid that you'd been hurt."
Junior had had a nightmare? Had been worried for him?
"How did he take to being made to sit and look at my baby pictures?"
"He didn't contribute much to the conversation, seemed more concerned with drinking his hot chocolate than speaking, but he stared at every picture I showed him." His mother said. "He really is a sweet heart when he lets his mask slip. How was your father's meeting?"
"Things went well enough, at least so far as I could tell. But you know me; I'm almost useless with that sort of thing." He carded his fingers through his hair. "I'll go put Junior back to bed. Good night, mother."
"Good night, darling."
He left the den and headed back to his room; the dim light from the hallway spilled in through the door and illuminated the gentle curve of his son's back. The child was fast asleep and didn't stir at the sound of his approaching footsteps; he was coiled around one of his pillows like one of the garden snakes which were often seen accompanying him and his little face was half buried in the cotton sheets.
Trying his best not to wake him, Tom lifted his son into his arms like he had when he'd carried him in from the car on the first night he'd brought him to the manor. The boy shifted with a soft grumble and nuzzled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Sleepy fingers gripped the back of his shirt. Tom ran the hand he wasn't using to bear his son's weight along the length of his back as he carried him down the hall and back into his own bedroom.
As he had before, he pulled back the sheets and lay his son down in his bed. Tucking him in. Brushing back his hair and kissing his brow.
A small hand caught at his as he turned to leave, and when he looked back a pair of blue eyes had caught him in a sleepy focus.
"The horses." His voice was so thick with sleep that it was almost impossible to make out what he was trying to say. "You said that you'd teach me to ride."
He wanted to learn to ride the horses? Tom hadn't thought that Junior had even acknowledged his offer to share his greatest passion with him. Hadn't thought that his son would ever have any interest in extending a hand back to him. Yet here he was, doing precisely that.
He smiled. "Later, Junior. It's almost three in the morning. You need to sleep."
"After breakfast?"
Tom nodded. "If you'd like to go down to the stables after breakfast then we can do that. Let's wait and see how we feel about waking up that early."
Junior grumbled another response, this one completely unintelligible. For a moment it seemed as if he might ask him to stay, but then he released his hold on his hand and rolled over. His son was back asleep a moment later.
"Goodnight, Junior." With his own exhaustion gnawing incessantly at the edges of his awareness, Tom left his son's room and retired to his own. Waking a few hours later at around seven in the morning, he stepped into the shower and put on clothing which would be comfortable to ride in before heading to the dining room.
His mother and father, each with a strong cup of coffee steaming in front of them, were already there. A copy of the Evening Standard was sitting on the table, looking as if it had just finished being read.
"Going out riding today, Tom?" his father asked as he sat down.
"Most likely; if Junior still feels up to it when he wakes up I plan to take him out to ride for a bit. Around the pasture. Maybe even up on the trail; with the whole of the Gaunt family either dead or imprisoned it should be safe to pass by their shack.
"Are you sure that you should take him out onto the trail so soon? Even if you'll be teaching him out on the pasture first, has he ever ridden anything before?"
"I've ridden a broomstick." Junior pushed open the door of the dining room and headed towards his seat at the table. "All first years at Hogwarts have to take these dreadful flying lessons; if it were flying by our own power somehow then that would be different, I'm not afraid of heights, but the Silver Arrows that our Professor uses are older than our Head Master and aren't the sort of thing anyone in their right mind would trust to hold them sixty feet off the ground."
Displaying none of the closed off suspicion that Tom had grown used to seeing on some level, his son selected what he wanted from the spread of food and began assembling his plate.
"I don't have to hold my hand out and say 'up', do I? Because I don't think I can lift a horse."
There were faint shadows under his eyes and he seemed to be pushing away the lingering effects of forcing himself to wake up before his body was fully ready to. He smiled at his son and, to his surprise, received something of a smile back.
"I don't think I can either. Luckily, pleasure riding-at least-doesn't require such a thing." He said. "Versailles is an old, calm mare. She won't be a difficult first mount for you to work with. We'll be out until around midday and may miss lunch; make sure to eat your food."
"Yes, father." Tom sat up so straight in his chair that he almost bumped his knees against the table but his son had already turned away and either didn't notice or pretended not to.
Breakfast finished quietly and after a cup and a half of coffee each the pair left the dining room and headed for the stairs.
"The best shoes to wear while you're riding are, of course, riding boots, but they aren't absolutely mandatory; we can get you a pair of them sometime soon if you decide that you want to do more riding after today." He said. "For now we'll just work on trying to get you comfortable in the saddle, alright Junior."
His son nodded and followed him out the door onto the porch and into the sun. The air smelled like grass and morning. The well-kept lawn rustled underfoot as they made their way towards the stables, the soft sounds of the nickering horses growing louder as they came closer.
The interior of the stable was a handful of degrees hotter than it was outside and smelled of sweet hay and the slightly sour odor unique to horses. Junior eyed the black stallion in the farthest left stall-Zephyr, the wildest horse that he owned and a trouble to ride even for him-as they passed.
"Don't go near that one. He wasn't broken properly by the man we bought him from. Bites." As if to illustrate this point the beast snapped its bricklike teeth in their direction and his son, though clearly trying not to, cringed towards him. Tom rested a hand on his shoulder and steered him over to a greying, painted mare. "This is Versailles; she won't give you any trouble. Just put your hand out and let her smell you."
He clearly found the size of the animal intimidating and though he did as he'd been told his hand was shaking as he extended his arm. Retracting it on reflex when the mare snorted, and then reaching out again when prompted by a gentle reassurance. Versailles pressed her pink muzzle into his son's palm and snuffled at his fingers.
"I told you she wouldn't hurt you." The glare that Junior shot his way had little effect beyond making him laugh. He frowned, muttered something under his breath, and turned away to hide his blush. Jumping lightly when Versailles tried to eat his hair. Tom pulled down a saddle from a peg nearby. "Step into the stall; I'll show you the proper way to saddle and bridle a horse."
He swung open the gate and walked up to Versailles, gently patting her neck before swinging the leather saddle up onto her back. Junior, he noticed, lingered beside the stall's wooden door. He talked him through the process of situating the saddle and properly tightening the straps, the protocol of slipping a bridle into a horse's mouth, and then led both the horse and his son out of the stable.
"You're not going to ride as well?"
Was that a deeply buried twinge of panic that he heard? "If we decide to go up to the trail I will, but it's better to have someone walk the horse when you're first learning." He said, pulling open the gate into the pasture. "Climb up and hold onto the saddle horn. I'll keep a handle on the reigns until you feel comfortable enough to ride on your own."
His son gripped the saddle horn so hard that his knuckles turned white, hoisting himself reluctantly up onto Versailles' back. Tom smiled to reassure him and clicked his tongue, beginning to guide the horse along at an even pace.
"When you're riding a horse, the reigns serve the function of stopping the mount more than anything. The best way to steer is to use your legs and the best way to speed up is to use your feet. Just a gentle tap; no need for anything harsh."
By the time that they'd walked twice around the paddock his son had begun to relax. At five laps, he seemed to be verging on comfortable.
"Ready to take a turn around the pasture on your own?" he received a somewhat unsteady nod and handed over the reins. His son struggled for a moment to get the horse moving, and then proceeded to make another few revolutions on his own. First at a canter. Then at a light gallop. All under Tom's watchful eye.
It was almost noon, the sun hanging like an orb of white gold in the sky overhead, before his son pulled Versailles to a stop beside him again.
"You said something about a trail." He said. "Can we go there?"
"Do you think that you're ready to?"
Junior's face scrunched up slightly at the suggestion that he might be unable to do something and he nodded. "Yes."
"Alright then." He said, pushing himself away from the fence against which he'd been leaning. "Wait for me outside the stable; I'll saddle Domino and be right out to join you."