Chapter Text
"Some people only like you if you fit in their box... Don't be afraid to shove that box up their arse."
- Unknown
⚡️
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Tommy?" Hermione asked, heels clicking sharply against the worn pavement as she followed at his side. She had to half-jog to keep up with Tommy's long stride as they ducked off the main road and into a side street where the cobbles were slick with last night's rain.
The bakery loomed ahead. A perfectly ordinary bakery, with its neat windows fogged from the warmth inside and the golden smell of crusty loaves spilling onto the street. It smelled... safe. Comforting. The kind of place where you'd bring home bread for supper.
Hermione's shoulders eased, just for a moment.
She could see that inside, men were unloading crates, far too heavy for simple flour or pastries. Billy Kitchen barked at them like a drill sergeant, snapping orders sharp enough to cut.
Tommy flicked ash from his cigarette without slowing. "It's already happening, love. You coming along just means I don't have to explain later."
Hermione bristled. Love. He tossed it off so casually, but she suspected it was as much for disarming her as it was habit. "Harriett will kill you if something goes wrong."
"I don't break promises to your sister," he said coolly, voice low, steady. It was the kind of answer that gave nothing away but ended the conversation nonetheless.
Hermione had to hurry to keep up when he pushed through the bakery door and Billy and the others followed with the sort of precision that made her skin crawl.
Not a bakery.
She stopped short, blinking. Rows of crusty loaves were on display, yes, but the customers were all wrong — thick-shouldered men in caps and suspenders, with calloused hands and too-hard eyes. One caught her staring, winked, and bit deliberately into a roll.
"Fresh bread," he drawled.
Hermione's cheeks heated as Tommy moved on like he hadn't noticed. She caught up in two steps, hissing under her breath: "You could have told me this wasn't a real bakery."
"You'll live." Tommy's cigarette dangled carelessly from his lips as he nodded toward the far end of the shop. "Come on."
"Tommy," she hissed under her breath, clutching her handbag like a shield. He could have warned her beforehand! She still did not know exactly why she was here but she came anyway. At least just to check him further out since Harri appeared to be taking the same fancy to him as he did to her. She had to look after her family and if that meant doing one for Tommy on the occasion then she would. For Harri's sake.
Tommy didn't look at her, only flicked his cigarette into an ash bucket.
The heat hit her first — ovens working full blast, flour dust hanging in the air, the rhythmic clatter of trays being pulled and stacked. For a heartbeat Hermione let herself believe maybe it was what it looked like.
Then Ollie, a stocky man with a butcher's build, not much older than her, snorted outright when she asked if she could buy a loaf.
"No bread for sale here, love," he said, grin wide and wolfish.
Her cheeks went scarlet. Merlin's beard.
Tommy only tilted his head toward the back of the bakery. "Alfie's expecting us."
Ollie smirked and stepped aside to let them pass. He smirked openly at her. Hermione's face flamed again. She very nearly hexed him on the spot. Honestly. First the rum, now the bloody bread. If this was how all of Tommy's business went, she was going to die of embarrassment before the gangsters ever had a chance to do her in.
The air shifted as they moved deeper in. The smell of warm bread gave way to something sharper — barrels stacked against the walls, the tang of rum and molasses thick on her tongue. Hermione swallowed hard. A different kind of hunger hung here, something darker, heavier.
Behind those barrels, in the half-shadow, stood the man himself.
"Alfie," Tommy said at last, voice calm but clipped.
"Tommy," came the rumbling reply.
Hermione looked up — and up.
Alfie Solomons was immense. A great bear of a man, broad across the chest, towering, his beard shot through with gray but his eyes a sharp, sea-glass blue that didn't miss a thing. His face was scarred in a way that should have been grotesque but instead was... commanding. His expression was both amused and predatory.
Even Tommy, who carried silence like a blade, seemed compact beside him. Compared to him, even Tommy seemed... smaller. And Thomas Shelby wasn't a very tall man to start with.
Or maybe it was because of the size of his muscles? Because he was a muscular man... she did not expect that at all. Maybe she was way too used to how the Shelby boys and the other blinders were lanky and lean. Arthur is a prime example due to his boxing career.
Hermione's fingers twitched against her skirt. Compared to Ron's lanky frame and boyish face, this man was—
Stop it. You've only just met the man. He's a criminal.
Hermione felt, absurdly, like she had been dropped into a completely different world.
They followed Alfie to the back room where the air was thick with smoke, sweat, yeast, and rum. The barrels lined against the wall weren't just for show, and the men hovering near them had the kind of muscles that didn't come from kneading dough.
Hermione smoothed her skirt with clammy palms. She hadn't been this nervous since sitting her O.W.L.s. Except this time there were no invigilators, no test papers. Just gangsters.
Alfie clapped his hands together suddenly, the sound loud enough to make her flinch. He noticed, of course. He noticed everything.
"Right then," Alfie said, grinning wide as if this were some cheerful social call. "What we got, eh? You, Tommy, yeah, strolling in here with—what's this?"
Alfie squinted at her, like she was some gift Tommy had brought him. "A secretary? No—no, too pretty for that. A mistress then? Oi, listen, you sly bastard."
Hermione's mouth opened, indignation surging. "Excuse me—"
"Friend," Tommy cut over smoothly, smoke curling from his lips. "And we're here to talk business."
"Business, he says." Alfie's eyes never left Hermione as he said it. "Does she do numbers, eh? Keep your accounts tidy, yeah? Or is she here for decoration, bit like a—what's it—like a lamp, innit?"
Hermione's temper flared hot. She stepped forward before she could stop herself. "I can do numbers better than anyone in this room!" she snapped, voice sharp enough to silence the muttering men nearby. "And I assure you, I'm not here as bloody decoration!"
A long pause.
Alfie's head tilted. Slowly, that wolfish grin spread again, flashing teeth beneath the beard. He looked delighted.
"There she is," he said, chuckling low. "There's the bite, eh? Thought you'd brought me a doll, Tommy, but no. She's got claws, this one."
Tommy exhaled smoke and said nothing. He didn't have to. The faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth was all the answer he gave. Hermione flushed — with pride this time, though she hated that Alfie had dragged it out of her like some sort of parlor trick.
"Now then," Alfie went on, finally tearing his gaze away from her to look at Tommy. "You want in on my shipments, yeah? Or are you here to sell me something, 'cause if you are, it better be bloody worth my time."
Tommy stepped forward, cool and composed as ever. "It's about distribution. I've got supply lines through Birmingham, and I need London covered. I don't want a war. I want an arrangement."
Alfie rocked back on his heels, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Arrangement, he says. You hear that, Ollie?"
"Yeah, boss," Ollie called from the corner, still eyeing Hermione with that infuriating smirk.
Alfie jabbed a thick finger in Tommy's direction. "You come into my gaff, yeah, you bring your lady friend, you sit there in your nice suit and tell me you don't want a war. And I'm supposed to say what? 'Yes, Tommy, course, take me business, help yourself, eh?'"
His tone rose like a storm building, but Hermione noticed something under it — the rhythm, the cadence. This was performance as much as threat.
Tommy didn't blink. "I'm saying we both profit."
Alfie stared at him for a long, tense beat. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. A booming, rolling laugh that startled Hermione half out of her skin.
"Profit, he says! A man after me own heart."
And just like that, the tension snapped. The room laughed with him, though Hermione suspected most of them didn't even understand the joke.
Hermione let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
But Alfie wasn't finished with her. His eyes cut back, sharp as glass.
"And what d'you think, angel?" he asked, far too casually. "This deal sounds fair to you, or is our Tommy boy trying to pull a fast one on old Alfie, eh?"
All eyes turned to her.
Hermione blinked, startled. Angel? That was not at all the sort of introduction she had braced for. Her blush flared hot enough she could feel it in her ears. She swallowed hard. Then lifted her chin.
"I think," she said, careful, steady, "if you both stop posturing like cockerels for one minute, you'll realize this is the sort of deal that makes enemies into allies. Which is always worth more than blood."
The silence that followed was heavier than any charm she'd ever cast.
Then Alfie burst out laughing again, harder this time, slapping the table with the flat of his hand.
"Oh, Tommy— Tommy, mate," he wheezed. "She's bloody brilliant. Keep her, yeah? Keep her close."
Hermione's cheeks burned, but she didn't look away.
And for the first time that night, Tommy Shelby smiled.
"So, who are you, Angel?" Alfie asked again.
"Miss Hermione Granger," Tommy said shortly. "A friend of the family."
Hermione lifted her chin, and stuck her hand out automatically, manners drilled in too deep to forget, even here. Businesslike. Firm.
Alfie didn't shake it. He caught her knuckles in his massive hand and bent down — absurdly, gallantly — and pressed a kiss against her knuckles, holding her gaze the whole time. His eyes sparkled as if he'd found some private joke.
Her breath caught. She was not prepared for devilishly handsome men! Devishly handsome dangerous men!
"An associate, then?" he said, grinning.
Hermione's throat went dry, but she managed a stiff nod. She fought to steady her voice. "I'm here to observe."
"Observe, she says." Alfie chuckled, straightening up. His voice was rough but warm, almost charming despite itself. "Good," he then tapped her cheek with one thick finger before she could recoil. The gesture startled her more than it offended. "Stand there, love, yeah? Look pretty. Keep the lads honest."
Her jaw dropped. She had half a mind to tell him exactly what century he was living in...
But Tommy cut in first, it was calm. He, She realized had gotten her number. "He's right," He said. "Stay by Alfie, Hermione. You'll be safe there."
Safe. The word stung, because it meant he thought she couldn't handle herself.
But also... she believed him.
And not to mention she was here for Harriett. For answers. And she wasn't about to make a fool of herself in front of Tommy Shelby and his... associates.
So Hermione swallowed her indignation, drew herself up straighter, and gave Alfie a cool, measured nod. "Fine. For now."
Alfie's grin only widened. "Pretty and well-mannered," Alfie hummed. "I like it."
"I thought you might," Tommy just lit another cigarette.
Honestly... She was going to have to have a chat with Harri about Tommy smoking so much if she was going to be an item with him. Merlin's pants, what was it - his 15th? He smokes worse than the chimney!
Billy Kitchen's men filed in, rowdy, smelling of sweat and drink. Tommy paced before them, cigarette glowing. Hermione straightened beside Alfie, shoulders square, trying not to look out of place.
"All right, boys," Tommy began, voice smooth but iron underneath. "You're bakers now. Camden Town, Aerated Bread Company. If anyone asks — that's what you tell them."
Hermione blinked. Bootlegging. I'm witnessing bootlegging. She was no stranger to breaking the law but she and Harri broke it - it was for good reason.
Tommy carried on, voice steady: "The coppers here are ours. If you're stopped North or South, tell them you've come down to break strikes. Say you're Fascists if you must. Lodgings will be sorted. Tonight you sleep here. Don't touch the bread — it'll likely explode. Questions?"
Hermione had several. The biggest was; why was she even here? She had yet to do anything but meet Alfie and stand around "looking pretty" as the man stated. At what point was she supposed to use her political side?
The silence hung. Then one fool raised his hand, smirking.
A funny feeling settled in her gut that Tommy had only asked if they had questions to be polite not that he wanted them to actually ask them.
"Yes?" Tommy said. The tone proved her theory.
The man looked around, a cheeky glint in his eye. "I haven't seen any bread," He said.
The men laughed as if what he said was actually funny. Hermione noticed how Alfie went rigid beside her. The air was thickening. His jaw ticked, his arms crossed tight over his chest, the muscles shifting under his skin. He had a very disapproving grim look on his face, mouth set down in a deep frown.
Tommy clearly found that to be stupid as much as she felt it was because he took another inhale of his cancer stick and turned his head to look at Alfie just like she and Ollie were.
Alfie cleared his throat. His muscles in his forearms moved slightly from how hard he had his arms crossed. The action shouldn't have been as mouth-watering as it was. Hermione bit her lip, willing the sudden heat in her belly to go away.
The heat quickly turned to lead when he began moving towards the man who thought he was funny. Still with his shoulders hunched, Alfie stood before the man who looked as if he might piss his trousers. Hermione certainly thought he would have. Had she not gone head-to-head with Bellatrix Lestrange... She might have found Alfie to be terrifying but she's dealt with the worst of them and survived it.
"Girl to girl!"
She forced the voice into the back of her mind, shuddering slightly from the bad memories of trying to creep in.
Hermione jerked back when the crowbar Alfie had in hand had struck the poor man beside the joker.
Hermione flinched hard again, only to steady when Tommy's hand closed over her elbow — a silent command to breathe. Her green-brown eyes snapped up to him. He gave her the smallest nod.
She forced air into her lungs. He stepped back.
"Good," his eyes said.
Alfie leaned down over the groaning man. "He'll wake. Won't have any teeth, but he'll be a wiser man for it." He pressed the crowbar against the Joker's chest. "Last thing he remembers will be your funny little joke, eh?"
Hermione eyed the man on the ground, knocked out. She didn't think even a stunner could have done a better job.
Nobody dared laugh.
"RIGHT!" Alfie suddenly roared.
Hermione jumped, her pulse stuttering.
Merlin... She hadn't jolted so much in a bit. Not since the war.
"There are fucking rules here, yeah? There are fucking rules for a fucking reason. Quite simply they have to be obeyed. All right?" Alfie began pacing, his voice thunderous. "Rule number one, the distinction between bread and rum... That is NOT DISCUSSED!
"Rule number two, anything right, that your superior officer says to you... Or any of your other superior officers say to you... Yeah? NOT DISCUSSED!
"Rule number three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. I don't care. For the rest of your fucking miserable, measly lives, yeah? Because I like you... am also a complete fucking sodomite. Jewish women. You do not go near them. Because Jewish women for you are off the fucking menu. I think that's fair." Alfie looked up at Billy Kitchen. They seemed to be having some sort of a staring contest.
Whatever he saw, Alfie hummed. Hermione wondered if he was able to see something in him that the rest of them couldn't. Alfie looked away and down at the man he had knocked out.
"All right, that's that then," Alfie said, looking at Tommy. "Oh... Forgive me. I interrupted you."
Hermione found herself letting out a disbelieving laugh. She slapped a hand over her mouth. Alfie's scarred face softened into a smile.
Tommy's brow arched.
"Sorry," She said after clearing her throat.
Tommy snapped his fingers at the men. "Pick him up."
The Joker and another brute heaved the bleeding man away, their boots dragging across the warehouse floor. The smell of iron and smoke lingered. Tommy, calm as ever, bent to Billy, murmuring instructions in a voice low enough that no one else caught the words.
"Do I amuse you, Miss Granger?"
Hermione startled, nearly dropping the ledger clutched in her hands. Alfie Solomons stood uncomfortably close, his breath hot against her ear, beard bristling with mischief.
She turned, cheeks heating. "What?"
"Jumpy, aren't you?" Alfie smirked.
"We'll drive that out of you. You're working with Tommy now — you'll be seeing me often enough."
Hermione blinked. "Am I?"
"Yeah." He gave a firm nod, as if his word was law. "Part of the deal now. You've got a lovely face, much better than his. I'd like to see it again."
Her blush betrayed her before she could scold him.
"Don't fucking wait!" Billy shouted causing them all to go rushing out. "You better be fucking soldiers! You're a fucking disgrace! Go!"
Tommy, unmoved, lit yet another cigarette. The curl of smoke rose lazily around him, veiling his expression, though his eyes glinted sharply in the dim lights. "Hermione," He called.
"From now on," Alfie jabbed a finger between Tommy and Hermione, "you bring her with you. Better yet, let her handle business with me."
Tommy exhaled smoke, slow, deliberate. "That's up to her." He turned, gaze catching hers with a knowing spark. "So ask her."
Hermione narrowed her gaze. What a bloody Slytherin. The cunning toe-rag. Manipulative as Dumbledore, cunning as Snape. This had been his plan all along. All the years of Potter luck she dealt with by being around Harri had taught her to see through it.
"You'll pay me," she said, voice clipped, lifting her chin like she was in a courtroom and not surrounded by gangsters.
"Done," Tommy replied without hesitation, the faintest smirk ghosting his lips.
"And you'll meet my conditions."
"Name them."
"Not here," she snapped, unwilling to play the game on his ground. Then, with remarkable composure for someone whose knees still trembled, she turned back to Alfie. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Solomons."
Alfie's grin was slow, pleased. "Likewise, Miss Granger."
And just like that, a new arrangement had been struck.
⚡
The motor purred low on the ride back. Hermione sat stiff in the passenger seat, her arms crossed so tightly it looked as though she were holding herself together. Tommy drove with his usual ease, one hand on the wheel, the other flicking ash out the cracked window. "Going to say what's on your mind, or let it eat you alive?" he asked finally, voice cool as smoke.
Hermione's head snapped toward him, eyes sparking. "What are your intentions with my sister?"
Tommy didn't look at her — his eyes stayed on the road, calm as ever. "Straight to it, then."
"You think I'd dance around?" she shot back, her voice sharp, dangerous in its steadiness. "Harri's been through more than anyone should ever suffer. And those boys—" her throat tightened, but she forced it down, "—they've lost enough. I won't let anyone, especially you, use them."
Tommy exhaled smoke, slowly. "Not here to use them."
Hermione's laugh was humorless. "Forgive me if I don't take your word as gospel."
That earned her a side-glance — steel-blue, unwavering. "You want honesty? I'll give it to you. Your sister..." he paused, searching for the right words, though his tone stayed even. "She's the first woman I've met who doesn't bore me. Doesn't fear me. She's sharp. I like sharp. And the boys... well." He tapped his cigarette against the window frame. "I know what it is to grow up without a proper father. I don't want that for them."
Hermione blinked, startled at the bluntness. She opened her mouth, shut it, then said, quieter: "And if Harri says no?"
Tommy's jaw worked once, twice. "She won't."
The certainty in his voice made Hermione's breath catch. Arrogant, stubborn man. But there was something in the way he said it — not threat, not vanity. Conviction.
"You don't know her like I do," Hermione challenged.
"No," Tommy agreed simply, flicking the spent cigarette out the window. "But I'll learn. And I'll give her no reason to walk away."
Silence stretched, thick between them. Hermione turned her face to the window, hiding the storm of thoughts.
At last, she muttered, "If you hurt her, Shelby, I'll hex you into next week."
Tommy smirked faintly, eyes back on the road. "Fair warning."
They were halfway to Birmingham now with only the hum of the motor filling the silence. They hadn't spoken since she threatened him but her eyes were still narrowed, her mind still ticking. Finally, she said, "There's something else."
Tommy arched a brow but didn't look away from the road. "Go on."
"Magic." Her voice cut clean. "How do you feel about it?"
That earned him a long, deep pull of his cigarette. He let the smoke curl out before he answered. "Suppose Harriett told you what I think?"
Hermione's lips pressed thin. "She didn't. Which is why I'm asking the source."
Tommy's mouth curved, not quite a smile — more like he was amused she'd tracked him into a corner. "Smart. Doesn't surprise me."
Hermione's patience was thinning. "Answer the question."
Tommy's voice dropped, steadier than a heartbeat. "My mother was Romani. My father is an Irish Traveller. I grew up with stories of curses and charms before I ever learned to read a book. Saw women spit three times at the Devil's name, saw men hang iron over doors. We believed in things the world couldn't explain." His eyes cut to her, sharp under the brim of his cap. "So when I see your sister make fire dance in her hand? Doesn't scare me. Just means the old blood was right."
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the gravity of his words. "And Harriett?"
He took another drag, exhaled smoke through his nose. "Harriett's not just magic. She's fire and grit and grief and laughter all twisted together. Magic's part of her, same as her heart is. You don't separate the two."
Hermione studied him hard, the gears of her brilliant mind whirring, looking for the lie. She found none.
"You love her," she said, not quite a question.
Tommy's jaw flexed. His hands tightened on the wheel. For a long moment, he said nothing, then in that low gravel of a voice: "Aye. I do. Doesn't mean I'll say it easy. But I'll bleed before I let her break."
That stunned her into silence. Hermione wasn't often silenced.
The motor purred on. At last, she nodded, almost grudgingly. "Then I'll hold you to that, Thomas Shelby."
Tommy smirked faintly, lighting another cigarette. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
⚡️
Meanwhile, Harriett had a mission of her own. She, Ginny, and Luna were due over for breakfast on Watery Lane at the Shelby house to "spill the beans," so to speak, to the rest of the Shelbys. Tommy had told her to be upfront with the family since they'd agreed last night to be a... a couple.
The kitchen smelled of roasting meat, ale, and the faint tang of embers from the stove. Polly leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched, calm as ever. Arthur sat at the table, beer in hand despite it being only 9 a.m. John perched on the edge of a chair, eyebrows high, clearly bracing himself. Esme lingered near the hearth, frowning thoughtfully at the three young women who had stepped inside.
Harriett plopped Tom on the ground to go play with John and Esme's kids while she put Teddy down in the pen with their youngest son. She straightened her shoulders, eyes bright with determination. Luna drifted in behind her, serene as ever, and Ginny followed, her posture proud but wary, glancing occasionally at Esme.
Arthur squinted. "Right... what's all this then?"
Harriett took a deep breath. "We... we have something to tell you. Something we've never said before."
John leaned forward, curiosity sparking. "Oh? Go on then."
Harriett's voice held steady. "We're witches."
Arthur froze mid-sip, eyebrows climbing. "You're what?"
John blinked, processing. "Wait... hold on. You're what now?"
Ginny rolled her eyes subtly. She had no interest in John's vexing half-grins right now. Esme, however...
Esme smiled knowingly. "I knew it! I just knew."
Harriett thought, Wow. Esme had come a long way to be so entirely at ease with them since they first met.
Polly stepped further into the room, lips twitching. "Aye. I'd suspected, but now it's plain as day. And judging by what Tommy told me last night—Harriett and he? They're seeing each other now. Looks like you lot are becoming like family, whether you like it or not."
Arthur nearly choked on his ale. "Wait... what? Harri—and... Tommy? Our Tommy?"
John's jaw dropped, almost knocking over his beer. "What? No! Hold up. You mean... really?"
Ginny bit her lip to suppress a smile. John's flustered reactions were vexing in the extreme, and she found herself quietly enjoying Esme's calm, steady presence instead.
Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "I... I didn't realize that. Right... okay... well..." He shook his head, bewildered, still trying to comprehend both magic and romance.
John scrambled to recover some composure, but the flush in his cheeks betrayed him. "So... Tommy told Polly...? And now you lot are... really together?"
Polly's smirk widened. "Aye. Seems he's got a way of making things stick. You'd best get used to it, John. They're part of our circle now. You know Tommy is picky about his women. The fact he chose Harriett means he's in it for the long haul."
Harriett, Luna, and Ginny exhaled, tension slowly leaving their shoulders. They had expected confusion, maybe even fear—not Polly's sharp humor paired with Arthur's slow realization and John's sputtering disbelief.
Arthur's gaze drifted to Luna, noticing her calm steadiness. Something in him softened.
Ginny's eyes lingered on Esme, a quiet acknowledgment passing between them. Meanwhile, John fumbled for words, his frustration palpable as always. They all thought Arthur was the hothead of the family, but in reality, it was John.
Polly shook her head, amused. "Magic or no magic, these three have their places now. You lot'd better treat them with respect. Now sit down, have some breakfast before we go about our day—and come back for the family meeting. Which you three are obligated to attend."
"Ha!" Ginny snorted.
She blinked owlishly when she realized Polly was serious. "Really?"
Harriett rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder her eyeballs didn't fly out of her skull. "Yes, Gin. I told you this before we left the house."
"I thought you were yanking my wand!" Ginny muttered, half amused, half exasperated.
⚡
When Harri opened the door later that afternoon, silence fell over the room like a sudden fog. She widened the doorway, stepping aside to let the girls in, eyes scanning each person. Everyone was present—everyone except Tommy and Hermione. Even Curly and Charlie had left the Yard to attend this meeting. Ginny had her feet propped on the table and was busy with her latest Quidditch catalog acquisition while a snitch kept flaring hot pink while its wings spun through the entire rainbow spectrum without pause.
Harri hadn't noticed Esme perched on the stairs until she realized she and Ginny were locked in a silent, heated staring contest. Esme's darkly lined eyes had that malicious, assessing gleam she'd seen before, and for a second Harri worried the girls would start fighting each other right there in the hallway. She'd assumed they got along well enough; clearly, assumptions were dangerous.
"Hello, everyone," Luna's normally dreamy, airy voice carried through the room, curiously loud.
"Hello, sweetheart," Polly said gently.
"Angel," Arthur greeted, then glanced at Harri. "Red."
The nickname still made her chest tighten, and she caught herself smiling. Ever since Tommy had called her that, everyone had taken it as a green light. It was better than the usual "Scarhead" or "Potty," courtesy of Malfoy and his ilk. Harri liked it.
Harri settled next to Polly, the room feeling simultaneously intimate and chaotic. Being at a Shelby meeting was odd— she and her sisters weren't Shelbys, yet Tommy had essentially demanded their attendance. Something about a meeting with this Alfie guy in Camden and a deal being made. He needed their help which was why Hermione wasn't here. Though Harri doubted he realized how unpredictable Hermione could be as a mediator. She once set Snape on fire, set a dragon loose, and did so many other things that were highly questionable of her sound mind. One wrong move, and the woman could summon a hundred bookshelves onto someone's head.
"How is everyone?" she asked
John smiled at her. "Fine."
Arthur grunted a little, despite playing with the bottles that had been salvaged from the Garrison. Harri noted the telltale signs of a rough night. His clumsiness, the silence— not even acknowledging Luna, who was cooing softly to the baby. Arthur flopped around like a tired, well-meaning retriever, but the golden heart beneath his bruised exterior couldn't disguise the spiral he sometimes rode.
Harri would have to ask Luna if she needed any help with Arthur. It was no secret that the man was an alcoholic due to the war and tried as he might in not drinking but his demons won out every time. A bit like it was for Harri when she knew her sisters were in bed and when Tom was asleep. The cigarettes and herbs in her nightstand drawer were always being replenished along with the bottles of Odgen's finest - Harri knew Luna was aware of her own drinking problem to get sleep and that her dear little sister kept it from Hermione and Ginny. Perhaps Harri giving a few words to Arthur was hypocritical but the difference was stark. Harri still got on with things and did her fucking job and left the nightcap for she needed to sleep. Arthur couldn't. He was drunk more than he was sober during the day and night combined not including the days he was heavily hungover.
"We're waiting on Thomas," Polly said, one of the gentle smiles she always had ready for her on her lips.
Arthur, Harri noticed was a lot more clumsy than usual. Along with his silence. Not even speaking to Luna, or maybe it was because Luna was playing with the baby. He tended to just flop over like a fish for her. A bit like a trained puppy if she thought a little harder on it. He had the heart of a golden retriever, there was no doubt about it. But not even his golden heart could hide the fact that the man was spiraling.
Harri felt a pang of familiarity. It was like watching Luna trying to save him on her own, trying to mend the frayed threads of someone else's mess with her own nearly shredded ones. All of them were walking wreckage in some way. The best they could do was ignore the particles of dust choking them slowly and keep moving.
Arthur poured Harri a drink. She took it with a polite nod.
The door opened again. Hermione entered, storming in like she owned the room. Her annoyance radiated like heat, a perfect mimic of all those times Ron had ridiculed her for being a bookworm. She flopped into the nearest chair beside Harri, arms crossed, lips almost pouting.
"Oi, bushy, what's gotten into you?" Ginny asked, tilting her head. John, ever the gentleman in a way, poured Hermione a drink. She gulped it down and sat back, glaring like she'd just swallowed a live snake.
"Ask Tommy," she hissed. "Nothing bad—my arse!"
"Physically hurt, or just annoyed?" Harri inquired, though she'd already mentally prepared spells for a rapid hex should it have been more.
"Annoyed. He kept me safe... like he promised," Hermione admitted. "Just... a little warning about the man we were meeting would've been nice." A faint blush colored her cheeks.
John's voice cut in, casual and teasing. "Oi, Hermy, why're you red?"
Before she could respond, the door opened again. Tommy stepped in. He didn't speak at first, eyes sweeping the room, finally resting on Harri. He said nothing as he made his way over towards them and his hand found her shoulder, sliding toward her neck, and lingered in that unassuming but deliberate way only he could manage. His middle finger rubbed behind her ear.
She had to bite back the little sound of pleasure that almost slipped from between her lips.
"So?" Polly demanded.
"We're in business," Tommy said, lighting a cigarette and passing it to Harri. She inhaled slowly, licking her lips. Tommy lit another and passed it off to Ginny with an unsettled frown due to her suddenly making grabby hands towards him for it.
Ginny hissed around the inhale, glaring at Polly for kicking her shin under the table.
"How'd Hermione do?" Harri asked, giving Ginny the motherly glare she deserved.
Tommy brushed her shoulder once more, hand settling near her collarbone—again, without seeming aware of the deliberate intimacy. It was almost natural when Harri placed her hand over his and carded their fingers while she enjoyed her cigarette and ignored Hermione glaring at Tommy.
"Alfie fancies a bit of a crush on our Brainatic," he teased, earning gasps and raised brows from everyone except the girls.
Tommy was teasing and not being as uptight as he had been since coming home from the war.
"He was being nice!" Hermione seethed, glaring daggers at him.
"Sell yourself short, Granger," Tommy raised a brow at her. "You have a nice face. All you ladies do and use that to your advantage, eh? Gigi, she certainly does."
Ginny snarled. "Fucking John!"
"Get used to it! Payback for calling me your good boy and throwing a treat at me!" John laughed, unapologetic.
"When did this happen?" Harri asked, sitting up straighter, feeling a bit vexed. "You keeping the juicy secrets, Gin?"
"We'll have a snitch and bitch later," Ginny waved her off and pointed a finger at Tommy. "Don't call me Gigi. Nobody bloody calls me Gigi."
"Want to be called Monster then?" Arthur offered innocently.
"Fuck you guys," Ginny huffed, pouting now as she crossed her arms. "Fuck all of you."
Harri couldn't help but smirk. This was exactly the kind of chaos she loved. Shelby or not, witch or not, the room felt alive, unpredictable, and dangerous in the way she thrived on. And through it all, Tommy's hand on her shoulder lingered like a promise she wasn't ready to question.
She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, a soft smile lighting up her face as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. His breath was warm against her skin as he leaned closer, his voice low and intimate: "Buy a nice dress, Red. I want to take you to the races."
Harri's eyes sparkled with delight, a warm blush creeping across her cheeks like the first light of dawn. The idea thrilled her— she had never been to the races before. "What color?" she inquired, a hint of eagerness in her voice.
"Doesn't matter," he replied, his eyes soft as he looked down at her. "Just as long as you're comfortable."