Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"And now, I'll do what's best for me..."

- John Green

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She never meant for any of this to happen. She only meant to change one thing and hoped that by doing so she would save the wizarding world in the process. Taking the Hero complex out of a Potter was harder than she thought it would be. Hermione frowned as she looked over at Harri. "I am sorry," She said. "Honestly, I am, Harri."

Harri tucked the little bundle closer to her chest. She ignored Hermione's apologies because it wasn't Mione's fault their only way out broke. It was Ginny's fault if they wanted to be frank about it. The git. 

"Where do you think Ginny went off to?" Hermione tried again. Harri shrugged, her creepy Avada-colored green eyes bearing down on the baby that cooed in her arms. He was close to a year old but he was still very small.

"I'm more concerned about Luna..." Harri meant it too. 

It seemed the DA had some fight left in them even when they honestly didn't need to fight anymore. Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley had decided they weren't going to sit back like the two of them made them do a year ago. They were going to help whether Hermione or Harri said otherwise.

"I'm positive she'll be fine," Hermione didn't sound all that convinced.

The sad thing was, neither was Harri. 

Luna was their little sister through choice and through a blood pact between the four girls. Something Molly Weasley had been aghast to learn of when Ginny accidentally spilled the beans on it. 

After the war... After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harriett needed some grounding. She felt alone even if she wasn't but in a very large way, she was. She had no family left and Luna, darling sweet Luna, was the one who convinced Ginny and Hermione to make some blood pact that made Harriett their sister. Harriett didn't say no. She gladly cut her palm to make it official because it meant these girls would be her blood sisters for life. Apparently, they were sisters through time travel too. 

"Good thing we had gotten our affairs in order then," Hermione tried to joke but it fell flat. 

Harri finally looked at her, she wore a tired expression. "Really?" her voice dripped with scarsam. "Did you really make a joke at a time like this?"

Hermione's cheeks tinted pink. "I was trying to be... You know... optimistic." 

The baby in Harri's arms let out a soft hiccup and began to go a bit taut before it burst into tears. Harri cuddled him. "It's okay, Thomas," She cooed. "I'm here... I'm here..."

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out the necessary items to make a bottle for the little guy. 

"Eee!" 

"Ouch, Teddy!" Hermione hissed when Teddy tugged on one of her curls. Harri laughed, rocking Tom in her arms while Hermione wrangled with Teddy. 

Teddy, almost three months old and quite mean for a child with his impatience. He yanked on Hermione's curl again with vigor. He too wanted a bottle. 

What the ever-loving fuck was Harri thinking in taking on two boys? She was going to lose her mind and as well as her youth to even more stress and wrinkles than she already had. 

At this point, Luna and Ginny finally arrived. "So, I've figured out where we are," Ginny said, tugging Luna along because as usual, their little sister was in her head. "Birmingham. Near Smart Teeth or whatever the fuck it's called."

"Small Heath," Luna dreamily said. 

"Yeah," Ginny nodded. "What she said. Anyway, it's 1921."

"That's not so bad!" Hermione grinned. "We only went back about six years!" 

Tom settled down in Harri's arms, his tight grip around her finger brought some comfort to her. She softly smiled down at him. To think this little thing... This little person would b-- was going to be Voldemort. It was hard to imagine. He's so precious. 

Luna plopped down beside her, her delicate milky fingers brushing the dark hair on his little head. "You're going to be a wonderful mum, Harriett," Luna said. Harri smiled at her. 

Ginny had thought her mad when she said she wanted to go back and get Tom Riddle before he became what he was supposed to be. Harriett wanted to love the hate right out of him before he was forced to believe he had to be evil. Because no child was born evil... They were created that way and Harriett Potter was truly under the belief that Dumbledore was wrong. He had always been wrong. 

Tom Riddle was a victim forced into bad situations time and time again. If someone had just guided him, he would have never split his soul apart and become this terrible thing. Dumbledore had villainized a child who had been severely abused and tortured every single day of his life by god-fearing religious monsters and foolish children in a time of war and strife. Of course, the boy would do anything to feel safe even if that meant the matron of Wools would have had him exercised by men of the cloth. It was a no wonder why Voldemort hated Muggles the way he did. 

Harriett felt bad for the young Tom Riddle. The innocence was snuffed out of him when it should have been nurtured. That's why she made a quick and unthinkable decision to be the person who would be the one to do it. Hermione, of course, said she would come. Especially when Ron and her did not agree to be more than friends. The war had inevitably put a wedge there... And Harriett for all that she did and held true, couldn't forget that Ron had abandoned them when she and Hermione needed him the most. Hermione had clearly agreed once the war was over. And it's not like Hermione had any family either seeing as she wiped her parent's memories of her existence. So, they were now both orphans. 

Andromeda had been murdered three months after the battle of Hogwarts by vengeful straggling Death Eaters. Harri was Teddy's godmother and the only family he had left. She blood adopted him a month later and now he not only looked like Remus but magic had cursed him with the Potter hair. Poor bloke. 

As for Luna... Well, she too was an Orphan. Her father was killed when the Death Eaters arrived after they escaped from his home. 

As for Ginny? Ginny couldn't handle the fact that Fred was gone. She thought if she came, she could help the three of them change history. Harriett had loved Ginny for her bravery. And it would be nice to have her there with them. Only it wasn't supposed to be this... This stranded in the past. 

The goal was to retrieve (kidnap) baby Tom from Wools and poof themselves back to 1998 where Harriett would take baby Tom along with Teddy, her godson, and Hermione to go abroad for the remainder of their days. That's why they were in the possession of the entirety of the Potter and Black Vaults. 

"Can it be fixed?" Ginny asked. She was holding up the broken time turner, a frown on her face. Hermione snatched it from her grasp and shook it angrily at her. 

"No! It most certainly can not be fixed, Ginerva Weasley!" 

"Oi!" Ginny batted it away. "I was only asking."

"You broke it!" Hermione cried. "You did!"

"I said I was sorry!"

"Enough!" Harri snapped, rocking Tom against her breasts. "Don't upset Tom! And don't make Teddy start screaming bloody murder again! Look, I know it's a shit situation all around but it is what it is. You lot knew the Potter Luck would strike at some point in this little hail mary of an adventure so, can we just... Please... Accept it and move on."

"Who are you and what have you done with Harri?" Ginny demanded, hands on her hips. Harri gave her the same tired look she had given Hermione. 

"I'm no longer Dumbledore's savior, Gin."

She most certainly wasn't. She hated that man more than she did Voldemort and that was saying something. Dumbledore put her into her abusive aunt's household and forced her back there time and time again. He abandoned her and never checked on her. He had her so desperate for love and acceptance that she blindly and ignorantly fell into that old coot's trap. She could never be that girl again. Never. 

And that meant letting go of her savior's complex and her Sherlock Holmes alter-ego. At least now it meant letting go. She had two sons to look after all opposed to the just one she should had have. 

What in Circe's holy name made her want to mother the future Dark Lord? 

"It's getting rather late," Hermione was looking up at the sky. "We should find shelter in town, I don't have a good feeling about setting our tent up around this area."

"Can't we just apparate somewhere?" Ginny asked. 

"Neither you nor Luna can apparate properly!" Hermione snapped. "So, no! We can't! Not to mention, we're all exhausted!"

"Oh bugger off, Hermione," Ginny groaned. "You are in a foul mood."

"Because you--"

"I said ENOUGH!" Harri shouted, effectively silencing them. Luna giggled. "You two squabble worse than a married couple! What is up with Grangers and Weasley's constantly in a pissin' match? Huh! Fuckin' stop because I will kick you both in your fannies!" 

At least they both had the decency to look just a little ashamed of themselves.  

"Now," Harri let out a breath. "Hermione is right. It is getting late and I don't fancy myself getting robbed tonight. We need shelter and food."

Luna stood up and slung her coat back on and took Teddy from Hermione. Harri used her cloak to bundle Tom a little tighter to keep the chill away after making sure Teddy was warm too in Luna's arms as they made their way down the hill, Hermione and Ginny followed behind quietly.

As soon as they passed the cut and into the city, all four girls recoiled from the smell. "Ah bloody hell," Harri groaned when her eyes set upon the town of Small Heath. "I can feel my lungs burning like I've been dropped kicked by a Thestral!" 

"It's... quaint?" Hermione didn't sound optimistic. 

"I think it'll be nice!" Luna grinned and pointed with her free hand. "See! Look that nice man is helping that woman with her dress."

Hermione covered Luna's eyes. She, Harri, and Ginny shared a look. 

That man was having very public sex in the middle of the street. 

"I don't think my feminist self is going to love it here," Ginny muttered. 

Tom cried in Harri's arms as if he completely agreed with them. Teddy just gurgled.

"I think that Pub is open," Harri pointed to "The Garrison"

The sky cracked above them and rain came pouring down from the heavens making them shriek and rush towards The Garrison for shelter. 

"Awe," Luna said. "He's trying to make that woman wa-"

"Stop looking, Luna!" Hermione hissed. Ginny snorted. 

Harri opened the Garrison doors and as soon as she and the others stepped in, it went oddly quiet if she were to drop a pin in there, it would be quite loud. 

"Sorry, Loves!" Some man behind the bar said. "I can't serve you unless you have an escort."

"Then don't serve us," Ginny spat, thrusting a thumb behind him. "It's pouring rain. We just needed to take shelter until it stopped."

"Is that a babe?" Some drunken man slurred as he came a little too close to Harri than she was comfortable with. She pulled back a little from him, her nose scrunched up from his foul-smelling stench. He smelt of wet coal, cigarettes, and day-old ale that had been left in the sun for way too long. 

"You can't bring babies in a Pub!" The Bartender was startled. Harri glared.

"Oh? I'm sorry, I'll just sit them both outside and tie them to the pole so they don't run away."

Somebody snorted a laugh and chuckles followed. "Oh come on, Harry, let the lassies stay until the rain stops. I hardly think the bairns are gonna go breakin' glass or of the sort. Lil' tykes barely look a year old."

Harry huffed and nodded his head. 

"We'll call you Barkeep!" Ginny shouted when the noise picked up. "Seeing as our sister is also named Harri!"

"Don't trouble yourself though!" Hermione smiled. "You'll hardly believe us here!"

Harri led the way to a further back corner of the pub, a few men got up from one of the booths and let them sit there. Harri and Hermione nodded their thanks, but Ginny like the bulldog she tended to be when men stared too long - had faked a lunge at a black soot-cover man and he fell off his chair causing his friends to laugh. 

Hermione yanked her down in the booth, pressing her in beside Luna before taking her seat as well. "Don't be an idiot, Ginny! We're not even supposed to be in here!"

"Sexist Cunts!" Ginny spat, her cheeks flaming red. "Because we have breasts we can't have a nip ourselves! I could take all these men down before they even knew I got the drop of 'em!"

"Of course, you can, Ginerva," Luna smiled dreamily at her. "It would be very brave of you."

Ginny puffed with pride. Harri laughed. 

"Merlin's pants, you're worse than Ron."

"Oi!" She gasped. "Do not compare me to that git!" 

A bowl of salted nuts and four frothy mugs of ale were sat down on the table along with chips. The girls looked up to find another woman standing there, a piercing look on her - Hermione went pale. 

"You girls need to eat and drink something," The woman said. "Especially you," She turned that dark gaze on Harri. "Nursing a babe isn't as cracked as it is and you need your strength even more with two." 

"Uh..." Harri found herself lost for words because this woman looked identical to Narcissa Malfoy apart from the white streaks in her hair. It was clear the woman most certainly was not Narcissa though. 

"Are you alright, Love?" She directed at Hermione. "You look a bit peaky."

Hermione squeaked when the woman sat down by Harri and pushed the mugs at them all. "Drink up. Don't worry about payment, I've handled the bill. Now... Let's get a look at this little one first shall we?" 

Harri curled herself around Tom. The woman noticed. 

"Ah," She smiled. "Protective are we? Don't worry, I just want to check their temperature because of the rain. None of you were fit for it and I gather the boys aren't either."

Harri slowly shifted and Tom put his gummy smile on display for the woman, only a few of his teeth on show. 

"My name's Polly, Polly Gray," The woman smiled so warmly at the baby. "He looked a bit like my nephew did when he was a baby..." and so this Polly scrutinized Harri. "You haven't fucked a Thomas Shelby have you?"

Harriett choked on her ale, sputtering across the table and hitting Ginny. The girl recoiled. 

"HARRIETT!"

"Wh-What!" Harri squeaked between her coughs. "They're my godsons!"

Polly chuckled. "I knew you were a virgin. You can spot the sort a mile off."

Harri went a brilliant shade of red along with Hermione. Poor Luna had no idea but Ginny blasted Ginny... She was looking smug because Ginny was not a virgin. 

"Thank you," Harri mumbled. "For the food and drinks."

"You're welcome," Polly turned back to Hermione. "Love, are sure you're alright?"

Hermione nodded her head. "Yeah... Peachy. Thank you!" 

Polly checked once more over Tom and then Teddy before she took her leave. She still seemed amused by Tom and by his name being Thomas. Harri frowned down at her... Her son... 

"Why'd you smile at her?" She asked as if he could respond. 

Tom ignored her and reached a chubby little hand out for a chip. Ginny flicked the basket closer and the boy wrapped his hand around one squeezing it to smash like the little snake he was before stuffing it in his mouth and slobbering all over Harri's hands. She scrunched her nose a bit but otherwise seemed content to hold him that much closer. 

"Ew," Ginny watched in disgust. 

"He's a baby," Hermione mumbled. 

Teddy made another one of those impatient whines he was prone to doing. Luna gave him a chip before the impending meltdown could initiate. 

"Oi!" Harri snatched it from him. "He can't have that yet!" 

His lip wobbled. Harri was quick to stuff a dummy in his mouth - crisis diverted. 

"Mione," Harri then reached over and took her hand.

"I'm okay, Harri," She smiled. "Just.. Give me a moment."

Ginny wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders. It hadn't even been a year... Let alone a half of a year since the war was over for them. The scars on them were fresh and barely scabbed over. Hermione's gift from Bellatrix was still stinging with pain every now and then. Using a cursed dagger made it impossible to heal. But Harriett tried every single day to do something to make it better. Even the scar on her hand hurt on the rare occasion "I must not tell lies" would flame an irritated red anytime she was angry. 

Stupid Umbitch. 

"We ought to ask around about a place to stay," Harri said, hoping to draw Hermione out of that dark place in her mind that she knew like an old friend. It seemed it worked because Hermione squared her shoulders. 

"I'll ask."

"I'll come with." Ginny bounced up. 

"Don't scare them," Harri snickered. 

Ginny beamed. "It's not my fault they don't know how to handle a woman with a mind."

The two went away leaving Luna and Harri alone in the booth. Luna was too busy staring at a room adjacent to the bar with the door shut and Harri was too busy eying Teddy to make sure he didn't pitch a fit and watching Tom tear into the chips like a starving man. She hated Wools even more for it. They didn't feed any of the children properly but Tom was the smallest baby there. It was like they hoped he died. 

She snatched a chip from the air before anyone spotted it and raised a brow at the boy. "Don't do that, here, Thomas."

He smiled at her and it broke her heart.

How did this baby grow to be the devil? 

Teddy thankfully fell asleep.

It must have been around five minutes when Harri heard Ginny and then saw Ginny toss a grown man over her back and stuff her heel into his neck. She and Luna jumped up and ran over.

"Ginny!" Harri shouted. 

Teddy let out a whine.

"Put your nasty fingers up my skirt aga-"

"Ginny!" Harri pulled her away. Luna "accidentally" kicked the man in the groin in the process when she came over. 

"Fucking bitch!" He snarled. "I'll cut you!"

"You put your hand up my skirt!" Ginny went to go around Harri but Harri shoved Tom into her arms turned around to face the man and decked him hard across the face knocking him out stone cold. 

The room went quiet. Tom laughed. 

Harri shook out her fist, uncurling her fingers - when she looked up it was to find a pair of blue eyes watching her from across the room. 

"I can't leave you lot alone for a minute!" Hermione's posh and very money-sounding accent didn't belong in a dingy pub like this. The bushy-haired girl made her way over and looked at Ginny sharply before looking at Harri and then at the man on the floor. "Well! I hope it was worth it if you're going to go around and punch people in the face!"

"Oh, fuck off!" Ginny laughed. "You broke Malfoy's nose for laughing at Hagrid!"

Hermione's stern expression cracked into a smile. 

Harri turned away from blue eyes to take Tom back in her arms. 

"Come on," Hermione said. "I've found a place."

Chapter Text

"Life is too short. But it is wide.

This too shall pass."

- Rebbeca Wells

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"It's... well..." 

"Go on, Mione," Ginny grinned. "Spit it out." 

Hermione opened and closed her mouth stuttering out; "It c-could be worse..."

Harri kicked a rusted bucket over and old coal ash landed on the water-logged floor from where the ceiling was leaking. "This place is--"

"Perfect!" Luna cheered. 

The three girls whipped their heads around to stare at her. "What!" Ginny scoffed out a laugh. "Luna! This place is a fucking dump!"

Luna didn't seem to listen as she went around and began charming the place. Ginny stared incredulously at Harri and Hermione who shrugged. "Might as well start cleaning," Hermione said. 

"Who even keeps a shithole like this?" Ginny muttered as she pulled out her wand. 

Harri held her hand out for Hermione's beaded bag to get the tent out. They were too tired to be strenuous with their magic more than they already had in the last 24 hours. Plus their sugars were low which meant their magic was going to be shoddy without the energy needed to perform it. First thing in the morning she was going to have to go find a bakery and stock up on sweets to replenish their stores. A large glass of pumpkin juice would be fantastic right about now. 

Once Harry and Hermione got the tent up in the area they cleared off, the girls went inside to bathe, get changed, and scrounge for any food they might have in the cabinets. Suppose they hit the jackpot when Ginny found three cans of baked beans and Hermione a packet of stale hot cross buns. Luna found a bottle of sparkling apple juice in the ice box. And Harri just stared at what she guess was once a packet of crisps but had been eaten by a mouse or some other rodent given the state of the bag. She flicked her wand at it, banishing it from the drawer and went to table to eat what little they had. It wasn't much but it fed them and the energy they needed for their magic got a slight boost. 

Harri pulled out the bassinet she purchased from under the pile of luggage they had. She quickly set it up next to Teddy's crib. She was unsure about leaving the two together at night. Teddy afterall, was a bit mean and well, Harri knew Tom was no better. Harri laid Tom in the Crib and put Teddy in the bassinet. Tom was going to be a year old in January, three months away from now. Teddy still had a bit to go. She put a few spells around it to make sure the boys stayed in and didn't go crawling about the place. 

What was she thinking? She asked herself again. 

A pop came and Kreacher appeared, he crept closer to her, his bulbous eyes peering over her duvet. "Mistress?" He called. 

Harri lifted her head and looked at the manky old house-elf that has suprisingly gotten a soft spot in her heart. "What is it, Kreacher?" She asked. 

"Kreacher found the wizarding village here. It is small, it is... They have houses for sale. Houses fitting for my terrible and wicked Mistress and her demon spawns."

Harri held back a snort. "We'll talk in the morning, go to bed, Kreacher."

He bowed low and popped away. Harri laid back down and looked up at the bunk above her that Ginny har claimed and wondered if she had done the right thing. She was eighteen years old. Just eighteen and clueless about raising children. What if she made Tom worse than what he originally was supposed to be? What if she screwed up Teddy? What if she caused people to not exist because she was desperate to make sure her parents and everyone else who died at the hands of Voldemort lived? And why did Polly Gray look so much like Narcissa? That was the most eerily freakish thing she never would have expected when traveling in the past. 

Green eyes flickered over to Hermione across the room in concern. She didn't want her best friend to be tortured by memories. But it was useless... They all suffered from nightmares that clawed and clawed at their chests until their nails pierced the skin and peeled back their layers exposing their bones and ripping into them until they were so exposed they wanted Death... Begged Death to take them so they wouldn't feel the pain again. 

The pain of loss. 

The pain of failure. 

The pain of loneliness. 

The pain of what could have been. 

The pain of knowing if you had just done one thing differently... 

Harri knew it all too well. The boy she loved had been taken from her. All the above boxes had been checked a thousand times over and Cedric Diggory's face burned into her memory. She loved him and she never got the chance to tell him and when she fell in love again... She lost him too, maybe not to death but to the pain he felt when he looked at her. 

Charlie Weasley was what she wanted so very much and he saw her as nothing but Ronald's friend and the girl that caused him to lose his brother Fred. 

It was painful... That; what could have been? 

She supposed if Fred hadn't died she might have never got this absurd idea to begin with. None of them would have been lying here in this very tent, 77 years in the past with a kidnapped Tom Riddle in their care. 

Not to mention the time mess-up they were going to have on their hands in a few years after Tom was born once more. They would definitely need to stay out of London during that time to ensure the loop remained.

⚡️

John Shelby came into the 23 Watery Lane with Arthur coming in behind him. They found Tommy and Polly at the Kitchen table each drinking a glass of whiskey and talking quietly to one another. John smacked the table. "Did Pol tell you what happened in the Garrison?" He grinned, a laugh falling from his lips as he sat across from them. Tommy shot him a bored look. 

"Two teenage girls got in a scuffle with Gordan, both humiliated him and one knocked him out? Yes," He took a puff of his cigarette, "She told me. She also told me one of them has two sons and all four girls are alone with no family, nor husbands and have currently been given permission from Mrs. Temble down the street to take up residency in the flat above her bookshop." 

John blinked then laughed again. "Of course, you already knew."

"I told Mrs. Temble to give the flat to the girls," Polly interjected. "They looked lost and miserable and I overheard them about finding a place."

"That place is a dump," Arthur frowned. "No place for two babies."

"I'll send Gordan and a few Blinders around to help clean the place up," Tommy stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray. "Seeing as he assaulted one of the girls... We don't hurt women. Let alone teenagers who obviously ran off from their rich fathers. We don't need that kind of heat when we already had enough on us before." 

"I'll go," Arthur volunteered. "Make sure he doesn't harass the girls again. That small one, the flaming red-haired girl with the poisonous green eyes... She has a soldier's punch, liable to knock the fucker out permanently if he pisses her off good enough."

Tommy gave a slight nod of his head in agreement and stood up, righting his vest. "See that you do," He said and he left the room. Polly eyed Arthur. 

"I have a good feeling about those girls, Arthur so look after them will you? I'll swing by and bring them a welcome basket and some things for the boys. I don't think they had much of anything but the clothes on their backs." 

John gave a good stretch and popped his back. "Aye, well I'm headed home before Esme has my balls for getting in late. Night."

"Goodnight!" Polly called after him. Arthur poured himself a glass of whiskey. She raised a brow at him.

"Just for the night," He said. 

"Mm," She hummed and didn't believe him for a second. 

⚡️

Tommy pulled up outside Lizzy Starks house. She was already waiting on the street for him and quickly got in the passenger seat. She immediately began prattling about this and that, not that he fucking cared about who said what and who did what but he listened all the same. 

"Why do you always bring me to your office to fuck, Tommy? Can't we do it at my house for once? Or yours?" She asked when he let her inside. He didn't say anything but began unbuttoning his vest to get his suspenders down and his trousers undone. She was already leaning against his desk with her dress hiked up, no knickers in sight.

"Turn around," He grunted. 

She knew he didn't like to fuck facing her. He told her enough as it is. Yet, she kept trying. He had to hand it to her for her perseverance. 

Lizzy did as told, leaning against the hard surface and a pinched expression on her face, and gasped when he slammed into her without any preparation. Not that she needed it, he told himself once more. She never needed it due to her occupation. At least that's what he told himself to cover up the fact the woman was always wet for him. Perhaps fucking her wasn't such a good idea knowing that she was in love with him, when all he saw her as was nothing more but a good girl who sold sex

Within minutes it was over. He didn't linger. He was already righting his clothes and pulling out a wad of notes to hand her. She scowled. "I wish you didn't pay me all the time..." but she took the money all the same. 

"I'll take you home," He said and waited for her to get her clothes back to rights. 

As usual, he dropped her off and made his way down the streets to go who knows where. He should probably get some sleep, he desperately needed it but he hadn't slept right in years. Especially after she lied and broke his heart. So he drove and he drove and occupied his mind with other matters instead of sleeping. And Ada too... Ada was always on his mind. He worried for her despite what everyone thought. Freddie was sick last he heard. Pestilence. Nasty thing to have. 

Something darted out in the road, Tommy swerved the car over to a stop, squinting into the dimly lit street. He quickly got out of the car and looked around to find a girl standing off to the side in her dressing gown. Red locks wild and unbounded, unfashionably long to her hips, her skin as pale as moonlight above them. 

He blinked and then she was gone. Only a flash of fabric going around the corner. He got out of his car and went to go after her but she wasn't there anymore. Was he seeing ghosts now? Thats just what he bloody needed, to be haunted by dead people. Tommy rubbed at his eyes. He desperately needed to sleep. 

Harri woke to being poked and prodded by Tom. His chubby fingers pressed into her cheeks and neck. She smiled softly and peered her eyes open to find him very close. 

"Ma-Ma... Ma-Ma..." He then pressed a slobbery kiss to her face making her laugh. 

"Alright," She said. "I'm up."

She was so tired too. When she pulled the covers back, she found that mud was caked into her nightgown, and her feet were covered in it. A frown etched its way onto her lips. 

"You were sleepwalking," Luna told her. "Hermione put Tom in your bed when he was crying."

"Teddy?"

"Slept through the night. I already gave him his bottle. He's doing tummy time with Kreacher."

"Wheres Hermione?" 

"She and Ginny went to find food and nappies for the boys. Here," Luna held out a corktop tied to a piece of string. "I made this for Tom. To keep the Nargles away."

Harri smiled fondly at her. "Thank you, Luna. I'm sure he'll love it."

Luna grinned and skipped away from her to do who knows what. Harri picked Tom up and carried him to the bathroom so she could take another bath and get ready for the day. When she was sat in the milky white waters and had Tom inside with her in his bathing chair, spelled to the end of the tub she played with one of the rubber duckies and made duck noises causing him to giggle and clap his hands with wide childish eyes. She'd give Teddy his bath later. 

Sleepwalking wasn't good. She thought she had gotten over that before she left her original time. Hermione said she hadn't been. 

A pop came and Kreacher appeared, bowing low. 

"Good Mistress needs coffee so Kreacher has made her some."

Harri smiled and took the mug. "Thank you, Kreacher."

He blushed and bowed low once more with a smile. "Kreacher as went into Wizarding Villiage he has to acquire newspapers for his kind Mistress."

And indeed he had. He had a big stack of them. 

"That was very thoughtful of you," She nodded to Tom. "Would you like to watch over him too for me?"

Kreacher's eyes lit up. "Yes! Kreacher would love to watch over his little master Tom!"

Harri sighed when she was alone again. She rubbed at her face and leaned back to relax only to find her alone time disrupted when Ginny stormed in with a fierce gleam in her eyes. "Get up, Potter! That fucker you knocked out is outside the flat with four more of those peaked hat-wearing cunts!"

Harri slipped under the water and screamed. 

Fucking Potter luck!

Chapter Text

"Have you ever met a person who at first glance you weren't attracted to but then they talk and with every word every smile and every laugh they become more beautiful until you can't believe there was a moment you didn't think they were?"

- Atticus

⚡️

Arthur had only caught a glimpse of the blood-red-haired girl in The Garrison. He knew she punched Gordan out cold of course but now that he was "sort-of" up close he didn't realize about absolutely tiny she was. What was she five foot-fuck all? Finn was bloody taller than her! And he wasn't that much taller than Polly. 

"You better step off or I'll pop off!" The other redhead shouted from the window from where the two were leaning out to look at them. This one was more of a faded orange-colored redhead and she was willowy and taller, towering over Miss Knock-em-and-cold-clock-em. 

"What, you get a stiff one for me, pretty boy? Want to go for round two, yeah?" Blood-red grinned wickedly down at what was most obviously Gordan. 

Arthur laughed. Gordan blushed, more from anger than anything else. He didn't even want to show up here but orders were orders. 

"No?" She talked. "Then, fuck off!"

The window slammed shut. 

"Oi!" Arthur tossed a pebble and clacked against the window. It was ripped back open and Blood-red popped her head back out. 

"What are you decrepitated and geriatric? I said fuck off! We ain't buyin' and we ain't sellin'! Want a whore go somewhere else! If you want to get your cocks smashed then keep pestering us and see what happens!"

The window was banged shut once more. The men looked to Arthur. None of them have ever heard a woman speak like that before. Not even Polly was so... Crass... 

"What now?" Levi asked. 

"Rowan, get Mrs. Temble. Have her to fetch the keys."

"You'll do no such thing!" A heated voice snarled behind him. He sighed. 

"Pol..."

"Stay out here, bloody idiots," She muttered and heaved her basket to her other arm and knocked rather politely on the door. The window above opened again. It was the other one, the carrot-top. 

"Harri! It's the nice lady from the pub!"

Arthur supposed Blood-red was Harri when she stuck her head back out. She paled a bit but smiled nonetheless. Polly grinned up at them. "Let me up, Loves! I brought some food and some things for Thomas and Theodore!" 

The front door was opened by a little white hair girl with the clear blue eyes that seemed all clouded over. Arthur thought she was very pretty if but a little strange. Her clothes did not match in the slightest, her dress was a yellowish white that reminded him a bit of aprons the nurses wore during the war. Her stockings were thick and red with bright purple wellies and her long sleeve undershirt was the color of bluebells. The strangest thing however was the fact she was wearing a corktop as a necklace along with several other charms dangling from around her neck. Large radishes dangled from her earlobes and many rings adorned her fingers. Arthur didn't know what to think about this seemingly childish yet aloof girl. 

"Hello, Mrs. Gray," The girl's voice was soft and dreamy. He imagined it would have been a voice an angel had. She certainly looked like an angel to him. She was a slip of a thing and as pale as milk and hair as white as snow... Those eyes certainly didn't help along with that dress. 

"Hello, sweetheart," Polly almost cooed and turned to face him and the men. "Fuck off. The girls don't want you around. I'll speak to Tommy."

Arthur pulled his cap off and looked up at the window where Harri was still leaning out. He gathered she was sort of the leader of this odd bunch of girls.  "My name is Arthur, Arthur Shelby! I only came to make this cunt apologize for what he did to your friend."

Harri frowned. 

"Alright... You can come up but the others aren't allowed to and if I see that bastard loitering on our step again, I cut him up and throw in the cut - he sexually assaulted Ginny! What gives you men the fucking right! Go on! GET!"

Ginny proceeded to make dog barking noises and to Arthur's utter disbelief, a ball came sailing out the window and whacked Gordan across his face before he even had the time to duck. 

He spat a tooth out. 

Arthur lost it, slapping his leg and roaring in laughter. "Ah! I bloody love it!" He exclaimed. "You heard the ladies, go on- get!" He kicked Gordan in the arse and the others followed after him.

⚡️

"How'd it go?" Tommy asked. 

"They only let me and Pol in," Arthur said.

"Lovely girls," Polly smiled. "The tall willow redhead has a mouth on her but is otherwise well-mannered. "The youngest, the blonde--"

"Luna," Arthur said quietly. Polly looked at him curiously at the way he said her name. 

"Luna, she's a bit odd. Sweet girl though."

"I think she's an angel," Arthur's ears went red when he realized he said that out loud. He cleared his throat. "Harriett's the leader, we believe. The girls look to her for direction we noticed. She's the one with the sons. The eldest, Hermy--"

"Hermione," Polly corrected. "Was out looking for a job. Mrs. Temble gave her the bookshop assistant position when the girl returned with a dire face and a put-out attitude. Nobody wanted to hire her."

"I told Harriett I could get her job at the stables working with Curly," Arthur cleared his throat again. "Having children and all... Be easier when someone can look after the little lads. Curly likes kids."

"Why?" Tommy asked, lighting up a cigarette. "We don't know them."

"Sweet girls, Tom," Arthur stared back at him, unflinching. "Luna's a fortune teller."

Tommy scoffed. 

"And the other?"

"Ginny will be working the Garrison," Arthur chuckled. Polly smirked. "Keep everyone in line. Apparently, the girl is a runner and an excellent shot." 

"Keep an eye on them, eh?"

"Sure, Tommy. Keep them close."

"And Arthur?" Tommy stood up and and put a hand on his shoulder. Arthur looked back at him. "No fucking the girl until she's 18."

Arthur frowned. "The bloody's wrong with you? I'm an old man, Tom!"

Tommy smiled, more sarcastic than anything. "Didn't stop you in France."

"Fuck off," Arthur grumbled. 

⚡️

Hermione and Harri made their way down Watery Lane and passed over a small bridge of the cut and towards the Garrison Pub. Tom on Harri's hip, his head laying comfortably in the crook of her neck and one hand gripping unto a loose curl, the other in the top of her blouse rubbing at her collarbone, just right over her heart. Teddy was swaddled up in his sling on her chest, sleeping soundly. She had put a featherlight charm on both of them. Neither of them wanted to go to Hermione. She sighed, she needed to purchase a pram. 

What Polly brought them had been kind very indeed but they would need more sugary things, more carbs, a lot of carbs for the glucose that they required to have energy to perform magic. Ginny had the highest metabolism out of all of them which meant she drained faster than they did and despite wanting the firecracker of their little group to be calm, they needed her always sharp and at her best because you never know when you need to fight. 

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Ran inside their heads from the numerous amount of times Mad-Eye Moody had barked it in their ears at the most random of times. Harri swears even months later after his death, when she sits down at the table her body is too wound up thinking he was going to pop in the room and send a stinging hex her way as he screamed at the top of his lungs, "STAY SHARP, POTTER! NEVER LET YOUR GUARD DOWN, GIRL!" 

"I hope Ginny doesn't coerce Luna into breaking the law or anything," Hermione was a bit pale at the thought. Harri had to hold back a snort. She knew she was worried, she herself worried about the things Ginny could drag Luna into but compared to their last seven years? Ginny's shenanigans were very tame. 

"Oh yes," Harri said very seriously. Hermione looked sharply at her. "Hopefully both girls have enough in common not to go fighting a Troll in a loo--" She broke off into laughter when Hermione slapped her shoulder. 

"Do not mock me, Harriett Potter!" 

"The two will be fine, Mione. Stop stressing. We did enough of that for a lifetime," Harri smiled fondly at her best friend. "There's no raging Dark Lord trying to destroy the world right now, no need to stress out."

"You're right," Hermione squared her shoulders. "We're actually free now. No need to stress."

"Exactly. That's that spirit, puffball!"

"Hey! Your hair is no less curlier than mine!" 

"Yeah, but mine's not frizzy and makes me look like I've gone ten rounds with a dragon either."

"You utter arse!" Hermione laughed. 

Finally, they made it to the Market where many stalls were set up near Adderley Park. There were several small shops that lined the buildings on either side of the street. Cafes, Shoemakers, dressmakers, greengrocers, butchers, and even a few bakeries. Hermione was on a mission, however, some nice lady a few days ago told her that the Saturday markets in Adderley Park had some of the best produce stands and fresh inventory picked straight from people's gardens and other items from the local farms. There were several artists as well showcasing their metal work to pottery and right down to the decorative canvas. 

Harri spotted a rather lovely baby's quilt boarded with emerald green satin and hand-stitched forests with Celtic runes. A very Irish blessing to give to one's little one. Hermione has already gone ahead saying she wanted to get the very best produce before everyone else did leaving Harri to browse on her own. 

"I'll give ye a fine price," A woman said from behind a rack of displayed quilts. Her accent was thick and heavy with a bit of a rasp as if she'd smoked too much in her lifetime. 

Harri peered around the corner and met kind pale brown eyes like the bark of an oak tree. She was old, frail and her white curls had been bound by a scarf with very pretty tassels at the end. Her skirts look as if she had sewn scraps together from a multitude of colorful clothes. 

A gypsy, Harri thought. She'd never seen a traveler before. Of course, she'd heard about them but she never met one even when she, Hermione, and Ron were on the run. Hermione had been fascinated by them when their Runes Professor Babbling had mentioned how many Irish and Romani Gypsies had traveled all over Great Britain at one point keeping the magic alive, at least the ones who did have actual magic and not the ones who con people with gimmicks and tricks. 

Harri could feel the magic in the tread of the blanket, it hummed under her fingertips enough for her to know it was done by a real witch. She slowly pushed her magic out just enough to brush the woman... She smiled at Harri, and Harri returned it when she felt the woman's magic brush against her own. 

"I haven't met a young witch in many long years around these parts," The old woman said, she slowly got up and grabbed her knobbly cane, and hobbled over to Harri, a withered hand with spots of age brushed against Tom's back. "He's a beautiful bairn."

"Thank you," Harri said. 

"Is this little Tyke... A pup?"

Harri swallowed thickly. How the woman could tell, she did not know. Nor did she want to know. "I hope not," Harri said quietly. And she sure hoped wirh all that she was that Teddy didn't inherit Lupin's Lycanthropy. It would be a life of suffering... She didn't want that for her son. 

"I'm Darya, Darya Ward," The old woman held her hand out to Harri. 

"Harriett Potter," She shook it. "These are my sons Thomas and Theodore."

"What is a pureblood doing all the way out here in muggles squander and filth?" Darya tilted her head in wonder causing the tassels to clash and making Harri notice they weren't all tassels but bells as well. 

"I'm a half-blood," Harri said. Though it pained her greatly. "My father dallied with a Muggleborn and left us. My mum died when I was very small. I grew up with my step-sisters Hermione and Ginerva.

"Ah," Darya smiled. "Was one of them the bushy hair girl who was muttering about aubergines and parsnips?"

"The very one."

Darya picked up the baby quilt. "Tell ye wot, you give me a half crown and the quilt is yours - discount for one witch to the other."

"Deal," Harri reached her hand into her pocket and summoned a coin into her hand, and passed it over to the woman. She handed the quilt over and Harri immediately wrapped it around Tom's small body. "Thank you."

"Come in see me in Burntwood. Ye'll know where to find me. Look for the stones."

Harri nodded and waved and went away from the stall. Hermione was going to be so green around the gills. 

It was some time of browsing stalls and purchasing minuscule things for their flat when Hermione came and joined her. Her wicker basket was already laden with food, no doubt an extension charm had been placed on it at some point, and a featherweight as well. Harri told her about Darya as they were looking at baby clothes for the boys.

"No!" Hermione moaned. "How unfair! Did she say at least you can bring a friend?"

"I think she implied it," Harri put back an off-white onesie that she didn't like. 

"You think?"

"Yeah. She knew I was a witch so... Yeah. Don't overcomplicate it, Mione."

Hermione picked up a pair of tot dungarees that had horse patches on them. "Harri! Look! This is lovely!" 

"Add it to the basket," Harri waved her hand. "Tom, do you like this one?"

Tom giggled. 

It was rather senseless of her to ask a baby not even a year old if he liked a certain shirt or pants. It's not like he would truly care. 

"Mama!" He spewed a dribble of spit down his chin and reached for the dark brown corduroy newsboy cap she found. Harri placed it on his head and her and Hermione proceeded to coo over him. 

They must have lost their minds during the war. Because no sane person would coo over a baby murderous dark lord. 

Harri paid for their things, hands laden in paper bags, Hermione had a painting of a Gyspy woman dancing all wrapped up in a multitude of silks under her arm. She was convinced it would look very pretty in their living room above the cerulean blue sofa they had purchased the night before. At least once they went to go and get it from the store and lug it back to their flat. 

Luna pushed Tom and Teddy in their newly purchased pram, following after Harri, Hermione, and Ginny as they walked the sofa through the streets while Ginny as usual yelled at people to "BLOODY' MOVE!" 

"Be a little nicer about it!" Hermione snapped. 

"Why!" Ginny scoffed. "They just stand there and stare. Like blithering buffoons!"

Harri rolled her eyes, chuckling. "Watch your step!" She called. 

"This fucking thing is heavy as shit!" Ginny cursed. "Are you sure casted the charm correctly?"

"Of course I did!" Hermione snapped. "We're running low on glucose, it can't be helped!"

"On the count of three we put it down," Harri said. "One... Two..." Together they sat the sofa onto the pavement. Ginny flopped onto the sofa by Hermione, both were a bit out of breath. 

"Don't laugh at us," Hermione grumbled. "We all can't be as strong as you, Harri."

Harri smiled at them, shaking her head. 

That's when it happened. That's when everything change the moment their eyes met. 

It was as if time stood still. Harri could feel the intensity of his gaze, his blue eyes piercing through her like icy shards cutting through the snow. The contrast of their eye colors was striking, almost like a celestial battle between vibrant hues. The intensity of their silent exchange was palpable, each trying to maintain their composure as their eyes locked in a fierce competition of wills.

Tommy couldn't help but be drawn to the fiery-haired woman before him, her red curls cascading down her shoulders in a mesmerizing display. His gaze lingered on her emerald green eyes, so deep and captivating they seemed to hold a world of secrets. But as much as he was entranced by her beauty, there was an underlying sense of danger that lurked beneath the surface, a reminder of the way verdant plants could appear innocent yet hold deadly toxins within.

Harri felt a flush of warmth spread across her cheeks as she turned away from Tommy, her heart beating a little faster at the memory of his intense gaze. She couldn't deny the attraction she felt towards him, the way his blue eyes seemed to see right through her defenses. And yet, there was a part of her that hesitated, a voice in the back of her mind warning her to tread carefully. Despite the undeniable chemistry between them, there was a sense of caution that kept her from fully letting her guard down. But as she glanced back at Tommy, she couldn't help but wonder what might come of their fateful meeting, their eyes still locked in a silent duel of emotions. 

Tommy looked away from the young woman with blood-red curls that defied gravity and the vibrant green eyes that were too unnatural and bright. 

Harri turned away from him, her freckled cheeks a dusted pink. 

"Harriett," Hermione called. "Come on, let's get this thing to the flat and find a diner. We're starving." 

Harri glanced once more towards the man but he was already gone. 

Tommy moved down the street, cigarette between his fingers, blowing smoke out between his lips that rolled across his face.

Chapter Text

"Breathe out... 

So I can breathe you in."

- Foo Fighters, Everlong

⚡️

Tommy buttoned his trousers back up, his gaze on the blonde whore laying in the hotel bed. He pulled out his silver case from his pocket, plucked a cigarette out. He rubbed it across his wet lips, before letting the fag dangle between them as he struck a match. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke furl from his mouth and slowly sucking it back up through his nostrils to release once more from between his lips. 

Emerald eyes that were too unnatural to be real, flashed in his mind when he grabbed his coat. It made him pause. He licked his teeth, settled the fag between his lips once more, and pulled his coat on. He pulled a few notes and tossed them on the bed, making sure he had his guns and his items before he left the room and down the dimly lit corridor. He tossed another note on the service desk. 

"She's still in the room, Samuel," Tommy said. 

"Have a good night, Tommy," Samuel called back. 

Tommy pulled the collar of his jacket up to shield his ears from the cold of winter moving in. He was so lost in thought he didn't even notice the crack in the distance until a flash erupted from an alleyway. He halted his steps, looking intently down the dark alley between two buildings. 

"Morgana's tits!" A girl snarled. "Watch where you point that thing, Luna!"

Tommy moved against the wall, he held his breath, and to his astonishment... It was two of the four girls that just moved into town. Both of them were scarcely dressed, wearing thin white cotton slips that barely reached their knees. Hair wild and all over the place with what looked like twigs in their tresses while their pale skin was practically glowing from what little slithers the moonlight cast down on them. 

And both girls were barefoot. Both are covered in dirt. And both smiling as if they did something magnificent. Tommy narrowed his gaze on the ruddy color marring the girl's dresses and had a feeling that it was blood. He would know blood mixed with dirt from anywhere. His time in France taught him that the best. 

He took a gamble on the white hair girl being Luna because Arthur hit it on the nail. She did look like an angel, or she might have had it not been for the blood on her. 

"Did you remember to grab the crown?" Luna asked. 

"Don't be daft, of course I did. We went out there in the woods for this stupid thing. Why would I forget?"

"You never know, wrackspurts are fickle creatures."

"Oh... Right."

And the girls disappeared around the corner. Tommy pinched his nose. "Not my problem... Not my problem... Not my problem..." He repeated over and over again and once more for good measure before making his way home. 

As soon as he hit his mattress, Tommy stared up at his ceiling. 

"Fuck... It's my problem," He realized. 

Because two of the fucking girls would be working for him. 

⚡️

Harri hugged Luna and Ginny. "You didn't have to do this!" She said, clutching the evergreen crown to her chest. 

They had snuck out late last night to do an old protection ritual. An evergreen crown embedded with magic from the moon and the earth to pinned above Tom's new crib to ensure evil spirits would never clutch to him and keep his magic cleansed from any tainting emotions. It did not need to be said that the girls had small doubts that no matter what Harri did, there was a chance Tom Riddle could be the same as he was in their time. They didn't want to take any chances even if none of them had spoken them aloud. 

But this gift meant so much to Harri. She appreciated that they willingly went out and did what Dumbledore and even the Weasley family had once called dark rituals... Just because it involved blood did not make it dark.

"We needed to look at all angles," Ginny seemed rather proud of herself. "Make sure no shadows linger in them."

"I sense a change already," Luna said dreamily. "Having a mum makes any boy feel safe."

Harri felt tears brim her eyes. That was the whole point of this. Of all of it. To bring change. To make Tom know he is capable of being loved and loving in return. A love that was safe and full of light and goodness. Hermione hugged her from behind. The first choke came and soon Harri was being hugged by all three girls at once and sobbing into Ginny's neck. 

"Shh, Harri," Hermione's voice wobbled. "We're here with you."

"I know," Harri sniffled. "It means a lot. All of it." 

Tom let out a sniff of his own, Harri broke away and went to him immediately, pulling him up and out of his crib and pressing kisses on his temple and cheeks, clinging to his little delicate body. She had to succeed. Everything depended on it. "My Thomas..." Harri murmured against his head. "My sweet little Tom-cat."

He buried his face in her chest, popping his thumb in his mouth and sucking on it. Harri didn't put him back down. She held him. 

"Kreacher has made his Mistress, little Master, and the acceptable Mudblood breakfast," Kreacher popped into the room and sent a foul stink eye at Ginny and Luna. "And the stragglers..."

Hermione laughed. She and Harri shared a look. At least he was sort of complimenting her now instead of calling her a dirty mudblood. 

Later once everyone had their fill, bathed, and dressed for the day, Hermione went down for her first shift at the Wilting Blooms Bookshop, Ginny down to The Garrison, and Luna and Harri made their way to the little storefront that was for sale and big enough for Luna to set up shop in. It had a decent size one-bedroom flat above it that Luna said she would like to turn into a herbage and Tea shop. It was an excellent idea and so Harri went with her, toting Tom and Teddy along in their pram while Kreacher went to several Magical Villiages to purchase ingredients for potions and tonics. 

Harri had gotten rather good at potions since the war, now that Snape was hovering over her and other gits sabotaging her work. Guess the Potter affinity for Potions did pass on to her after all. She may have taken a stable job but it would only be for a little bit because she would be a potion mistress for Luna's shop. She was the one with the daft hand for brewing - Hermione might have been a little miffed over it but it is what it is. 

"I'll see it for 800 quid," Mr. Rashad said once they were done looking it over. It wasn't worth that amount. 

"This place needs a lot of work," Harri said. 

"800. Or no deal," His voice was a little snappish. 

"600."

"780."

"550." Harri's eyes flashed. 

"That's not how neg--"

She cut him off. "You'll take 500. You'll sign the papers today and hand us the keys by noon."

Mr. Rashad flinched when those creepy green eyes gave off a strange glow. He felt like the space around him was restricting against his chest like he couldn't breathe. 

"500!" He agreed. "I-I swear!"

Harri grinned and the air around them let up. He inhaled deeply. Warily eyed her and then at Luna who was humming some strange song while she fingered the tattered drapes by the front window. Harri held a hand out. Mr. Rashad spat on his hand and clapped against hers. 

Harri stiffened and resisted the urge to hex him when he let go. She watched him leave while trembling a bit. As soon as he was gone she gaged and began firing charms off on her hand. "Oh, gods!" She cursed. "Luna! Luna! Spray me down! Get it off!" 

Luna giggled. "You're so funny, Harriett."

"He spat on his hand and touched me!" Harri gagged again. 

"You killed a Dark Lord and you can't hand a little saliva?"

"He hacked a phlegm up for that handshake!" She shrieked. 

Luna took pity on her and helped her disinfect herself by tossing a few scourgify her way. 

⚡️

Tommy clutched the iron key Mr. Rashad had given to him. It was the key to his fabric store. A key that was now the property of Luna Granger/ Potter or whatever the fuck her last name was. The girls were posing as sisters so perhaps they were sharing a last name. He didn't care but what he did care about was strange girls moving into his town and walking around barefoot at night in their slips covered in mud and blood. 

There were myths the Celtic families had about barefooted beauties that played in the night and killed in the name of their gods. Tommy didn't believe in such things but he knew others did and Polly had already latched them onto the Shelby name. Fucking jumped the gun on that one. She sees young pretty girls all alone with young children and she gets soft. 

He couldn't fault her for such an admiral trait. He was the same, though he hated to admit it. Wasn't he treating Lizzie the same? Paying her way more than she was ever worth because he felt sorry for her? Knowing she was all alone with cousins who couldn't care less about whether she ended up in a ditch with her throat slit? 

Bloody hell, Tommy rubbed his eyes. He didn't have time for any of this shite. He didn't even know exactly why the man brought him the key either. It's not like he was the girl's father. He didn't even know them. A little voice in the back of his told him he did know why. 

Harriett Potter. 

She did something, he said. He never felt such terror in his life. A small girl barely older than 17 - at least he assumed - and smaller than his 14-year-old brother had made a man who could kill in the night without blinking, who fought in the war alongside them terrified for his life. 

He wanted Tommy to cut her. It was hidden in the way he spoke. 

Tommy smiled, flipping the key once, twice, and a third time. People always came to the Peaky Blinders for revenge, wanting them to do their bidding but still treated them like they were the evil ones. Everyone acted as if they were hired mercenaries. A thing that amused him but pissed him off to no end. Such disrespect. 

No matter what he did, everyone still saw them as gyspy scum. Nothing more than stains upon society unless they were useful to them and even then, they were still treated like rats. As if they should beg for attention. As if they should be the ones cowering in the muck begging to be heard. Tommy fucking hate men like Rashad. The key, tight in his fist was dropped down in his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, then made sure his gun was loaded even if he already knew it was from the last time he checked it not even three hours ago. He blew out the smoke and took another drag, pulling on his coat and moving through the shop. Tommy clapped a hand on John's shoulder. 

"I'm going out, watch the shop," He said. 

"Sure, Tommy," John went back to doing the board, calling out for numbers. Tommy met Arthur's eyes from where his brother was in his office. Arthur got up immediately, pulled on his own coat, and came with him outside. 

"Where we off to?" Arthur asked. 

"To see your angel," Tommy smirked around another drag on the fag. 

Arthur's ears went a tinge pink. "Don't make fun, Tom," He mumbled. 

Tommy smiled at him. It was a rareity to see Tommy smile so it warmed Arthur's chest a little to see him do it. "I am only jesting, brother," Tommy said. He pulled out the key from his pocket. "Rashad brought this to me this morning. It's Luna's shop now. Harriett did something and the man wants me to cut her for it." 

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "Harri is a slight little thing. Sure she can pack a man's punch but I hardly think she needs to be cut!" He went red with anger. "That fucking bastard! I knew I should have stuck my bayonet in his chest in France!"

Tommy tucked the key back in his pocket. "I learned my lesson about women, Arthur. She's pretty, but she can--" He stopped himself, jaw tight. He didn't finish that sentence. He didn't need to. They all knew who he was referring to. Grace, she did enough damage to his family. He wouldn't make that same mistake. Never would he do so again. Pretty girls could be just as deadly as Germans in the mud. 

They moved through the streets, and people dodged out their way, tipping their hats and mumbling "Mr. Shelbly," at him as if they didn't he'd gut them for it. Foolish. Tommy liked it anyway. The respect. Even if it was born from fear. He was the leader of the Peaky Blinders. He was the Devil of Small Heath. He was King of Birmingham, and he was building up in the world. A man with a hunger that was unsatisfied. He wanted more. He would get more... Even if he had to cut for it. 

They came up to Rashad's old shop, Arthur straightened up and Tommy noticed why his brother was abruptly trying to smooth his hair out and righten his bowtie. There was a little blonde girl in a pale pink corduroy dungaree covered in unicorn patches. Her white hair was wrapped at the base of her neck with a blue scarf braided into the mess. 

It was the girl next to her that had his attention. The blood-red-haired lady with the green eyes that had been haunting him since he saw them. She was wearing a light blue dress that wasn't trending for the times. Wide shoulders with slightly puffy sleeves, a modest neckline, and belted waistline. It clung around the mid of her calves, flaring slightly out. He noticed, foolishly enough that the dress was the color of his eyes. A rather odd thing to notice, he didn't understand why that was his first fucking thought when he looked at her. 

Harri, as he noted she preferred to be called had one of her sons in her arms. He was sleeping, a dummy in his mouth, and one of his little hands wrapped around her loose curls, the other clutching the pearl necklace she wore. 

Did she ever do anything with that mess? He wondered. Has she ever thought about using a brush? 

"Hello, Arthur Shelby," A soft and dreamy voice called out before they even got near them. Harri turned and immediately locked gaze with Tommy. 

He almost stumbled. Almost. 

Those eyes were more than just unnaturally vibrant. They had flecks of gold in them around the irises. He did love the color of gold. 

"Luna," Arthur took his hat off and bowed a little in greeting to her. He sounded nervous, Tommy noted - unable to take his eyes off Harri. 

"Harri," Arthur then greeted the other. 

She looked away first and smiled at Arthur. Tommy's stomach exploded as if he had fireworks in the pit of it and building to his chest, making his heart begin to pound. Even her smile was pretty. Tommy fucking hated pretty girls with pretty fucking smiles. Succubus. 

"Hello, Arthur," Her voice was an odd mixture of posh and rogue of a Scot. A mixture he thought was also pretty. Now he was just pissed off by her stupid existence. 

He reached in his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it up and staring daggers at her. She turned back to him. "When Polly and Arthur told us about you, Thomas Shelby, I imagined you'd be a little taller," She said a playful smile on her face. Tommy inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke away from her and her son. 

"And I thought you'd be older," He sassed back. "Still taller than you, pipsqueak." 

She grinned, it was almost feral, and her green eyes flashed a little. "Let's not have a measuring contest... I can assure you, mine's bigger..." 

Arthur chuckled. "I wouldn't get in a sparing match with her Tommy, she'll win." 

Tommy hummed, throwing his half finished cigarette on the pavement and putting his boot on it. "I have something for you, Red," He pulled the key out. She reached for it, and he held it back, clicking his tongue at her like she was a naughty girl - he knew she was. He could see it on her countenance. "Whatever it is you did to Hardin Rashad, you'll not do it again. Not in me city. Understand me?"

She reached out, fingers soft and a bit cold wrapped around his fist, and she plucked it right out of his palm. Her long reddish lashes batted in a way that made him want to wrap his hand around her throat... "Sure, Mr. Shelby. I understand..." She stepped forward and if her son wasn't in the way, he thought perhaps she might have stepped even closer. "Fuck off."

She pulled back like a snake and whirled around on her heel. Tommy snapped his mouth shut, not even realizing he had opened it from her audacity. 

"Luna!" She shouted over her shoulder as she began pushing the pram. Tommy saw a tiny fist in the air and heard a soft whine come from it. The other son, Theodore?

Luna giggled. "She doesn't like to be told what to do... Be careful Mr. Shelby, she burns even hotter than her hair."

Tommy and Arthur watched the seemingly loopy girl skip after her friend. Tommy tightened his jaw in anger. 

"Firecracker, ain't she, Tommy-boy," Arthur chuckled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

"Yeah," Tommy agreed. 

He already hated her.

Chapter Text

"The wound is not my fault.

But the healing is my responsibility." 

- Marianne Williamson

⚡️

Ginny Weasley was not having a good day. She thought The Garrison would be an easy job and she perhaps was right, it could be easy if it weren't for... Men. 

She had already broken a bottle against the countertop and thrust the broken neck at one tosser and told him she would stuff it in his throat if he so much as tried to slap her arse again. Harry Fenton, her co-worker had yanked it out of her hand and began fretting because that "man" she threatened had been a Peaky Blinder. Whatever a Peaky Blinder was, Ginny didn't give a flying hippogriff about it. At least that's how she felt about most things anyway. She only cared about her sisters and her nephews - wow... Can't believe I consider Moldymort my nephew. 

She was in the middle of doing a wipe down for her fifth time that night on the counters because men were disgusting pigs and didn't know how to keep their drinks in their glasses when someone else came up to her for a drink. Someone else with eyes as blue as the ocean... The dark parts of it. Ginny would die before she admitted she swooned a little inside over the coloring. 

"A whiskey, sweetheart," He said around his toothpick that was so badly chewed up she briefly wondered if he was part dog and that's why he was walking about with a stick in his mouth. 

"What kind?"

"Irish."

Ginny dropped the rag and pulled a glass out and bottle off the shelf. It gave a quiet pop when she took the cork out and poured him a glass. "Leave the money on the counter," She said in a monotonous voice. 

He pulled his toothpick out and smiled at her. "Shelby's don't pay," He said. 

"Well leave a tip then," She quipped just as fast.

He laughed, reached in his pocket, and laid a nice shiny sterling on the counter, pushing it toward her with a cheeky grin. She snatched it up and dropped it in her apron. She turned away -- "You're Ginerva, right?" his voice stopped her. 

"Ginny," She said. "Ginny Wea-Granger."

She glanced in the mirror to look behind her at him. She saw his eyes had lit up and Ginny knew that fucking look! Mischievous and probably going to make her want to kick his bollocks. 

"Gigi," He chuckled. 

Ginny whipped around, the flat of her palm clapping the side of his ear sending him stumbling into the patron next to him. She may have put some magic in that hit. He jumped up, eyes wide in shock while the patron began apologizing for something he wasn't even responsible for. 

"Call me that again!" Ginny snarled. "I will shove my foot up your arse, mutt!"

"The foo--" He clamped his mouth shut when Tommy smacked his hand on his shoulder.

"John," He greeted. Cold blue eyes appraised her. Ginny held her chin up, daring him to say something. "Harassing the new employee, are you?"

Ginny sniffed. Her gaze trained on the shiny razor blade sticking out of John's hat. "My name is Ginny. Don't ever call me Gigi again or I'll be the one cutting you. Mr. Shelby."

She left them with a quick slam of the bottle on the countertop to help themselves. She needed a break. Preferably a cigarette. A daft hand plunged into a passing patron pocket she saw smoke up a storm as she slipped passed him and plucked his pack out to drop in hers.

"I'm taking a break, Harry my dude!" She yelled over her shoulder. 

Harry let out a sigh when he saw who was at the bar. He put on a smile and went over to the Shelbly's ready to apologize for what he undoubtedly knew Ginny had said or done. Tommy raised his hand and shook his head before he could even open his mouth. 

"It's fine, Harry. No harm done," He said. "John here was being cheeky."

John scowled, the red impression of a slender feminine hand was raised on the side of his face and ear. Harry almost grimaced because it looked painful. And it was on the ear to boot. His ear was probably ringing. 

"I think I'm in love," John said wistfully staring where Ginny had left. 

"Esme will have your balls," Tommy said quietly.

"I think Esme would be alright with three in our bed," John murmured around his sip. "More fun that way."

Harry choked on his spit at the implication. His cheeks warmed up as he rushed away from them. 

Tommy laughed. "Aye, well, I think I might have to agree with you. Ten quid says Esme gets her before you."

John grinned and smacked his hand against his brothers. "A'ight! I'll have her before Christmas, mark my words, Tom! Before Christmas!"

⚡️

"Do you fancy Mr. Shelby?" 

Harri startled. She whipped around to face Luna. "No! He's old enough to be my dad, Luna!" 

She giggled. "Not Arthur, silly! Thomas, Thomas Shelby." Harri went pink-cheeked which traveled to her ears. Her neck and chest felt a little warm. Luna stared rather long at her all cloudly eye for a moment and smiled rather slyly. "You do fancy him..." She sang. 

"Shut it, Luna," Harri mumbled. She grinned. "He is rather easy on the eyes, isn't he?"

Luna nodded very seriously. "Very handsome. And very cold too."

Harriett pressed open the bookshop doors only to stop at the sight of Hermione on her knees and gripping at her hair with a pained expression on her face. The store was a complete wreck. Books were strewn this way and that way, catalog cards were lying in a seemingly organized and random order. Dust floated about the air from being disturbed, no doubt by the current manic having a breakdown in the center of it. 

Hermione was having a very bad day. There was no system in the bookshop and how anyone ever found anything was a wonder. She also noticed that there were very few sales and she would bet it was due to nothing being organized. Most people didn't want to browse and go on a hunt for a book. They wanted to be able to walk into a store, go to the section that they were after, follow the Author's name on the shelf, and find the book they wanted. Not everybody had the time to dally about in a shop. 

The first order of business was to yank every single book from itself and begin the tedious task of reorganizing. That was how Harri and Luna found her. She was knee-deep in the thick of it, her hair frazzled out with purple sparks shooting up with every nerve ending grated. It was adorable to Harri, she had told her that much. Hermione was just grateful it was nowhere near how Harriett had acted when she was furious. She almost set the girl's dormitory at Hogwarts on fire plenty of times over the years. Red locks blazed with licks of fire and streaks of lightning that glowed gold. A trait that had apparently come from her mother Lily. A true Gryffindor's marker. 

"Alright," Harri sighed. 

Hermione shot her head up, staring at Harri with large childish eyes. The same look she always gave Harri when she didn't know what to do or was feeling too much. Harri handed Tom off to Luna and went over to crouch before her very bookish and clever friend. 

Luna pushed the pram Teddy was in over towards the small sofa close to the counter. She leaned over it for a moment to make sure Teddy was fine. 

"Mione," Harri put her hands on Hermione's shoulders and spoke softly. "Come on, tea makes everything better. Let's have a cup and you can tell us why you're kneeling in this..." Her voice trailed off as she looked around again. "Mess."

"Your hair is hissing again," Luna stated over her shoulder. 

Hermione scowled. "I know..." 

"Okay," Luna smiled before drifting off somewhere around the shop and looking through the books while humming. Hermione screwed her face up at the back of her. Luna would always be odd to her even if she loved her. 

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" Harri asked, pulling a blanket out to get Tom settled on the floor. 

"Trying to create a more proficient system-- DON'T TOUCH THEM!" 

Harri dropped the book she had picked up and held her hands up. "Sorry..."

"Just - Just stand there and... And look pretty or something."

Harri snorted. "Using Fred's words against me now?"

"Well," Hermione smiled at her. "You are ridiculously pretty."

"Scars and all?"

"Ugh, Harri!" Hermione snapped. "I wish you didn't cover them up! That scar is more than just a reminder - it is proof of your strength. It is--"

"Hideous," Harri sneered. Hermione clamped her mouth shut. "I don't want to see it, Hermione. It was just a reminder of what I was... Of how cursed I was. It's in the past."

"You can't glamour it forever you know."

"Watch me."

Harri plucked a cigarette from the packet she bought, lighting it up with the tip of her wand and inhaling the toxins. Hermione scowled at her.  "I wish you wouldn't smoke, Harriett Potter. It's a bad--"

"Habit," Harri finished for her. "Yeah, you've told me plenty of times already."

"Then you should listen to me." 

"Mione," Harriet sighed heavily, taking another drag and giving her best friend a pointed look. "I smoke because I can. I smoke because I need to do something with my fucking hands! Did you forget the hell we've been through? I don't take calming draughts because they are addictive and I need a whole lot fucking more than considered normal. I don't take sleeping tonics because my mind tells me to take more and more until I never wake up. I don't do a lot of things to calm the voice inside my bloody head! I smoke because it's the only thing that makes me take a moment to remember I am very much alive."

Luna had stopped humming during Harriett's blow-up on Hermione. Even Hermione went quiet, tears springing to her eyes, and watched Harri grit her teeth and take another inhale over and over until it was down to the bud and proceeding to light another. 

"At least use herbs," Hermione said sounding resigned. 

"I am," Harri murmured a lot more softly than the spitting venom she was doing before. "Neville gave me a list."

It was awkward for a moment. 

"When do you start at the stables?" Hermione asked. 

"Tomorrow."

"I can watch Tom and Teddy for you."

"No," Harri sighed, rubbing her palm against her forehead. "I need them close by. The books said a mother needed to bond with her baby. I need... I need to make sure I don't jeopardize our progress." 

"Harri," Hermione laughed in disbelief. "Tom loves you! We have all seen it. He called you "Mama" already and he only sleeps with you. The only person he lets hold him when he is upset is you. You can spend a few hours without him attached to your hip... You can have a break."

Harri drifted her gaze over to where Tom was sitting on a woven blanket of lilies - a Yule present from Remus when she was 14. She never knew how he could afford it and when she asked, he told her it was worth every shilling he saved up. She deserved some comfort. Tom was playing with his stuffed Padfoot and Prongs. Two plushies Fred and George gave her the year after Sirius died. 

"I can't," Harri whispered. When she looked back at Hermione, she was crying. "I can't be parted with either one of my boys for a second. I can't." 

As if Tom knew they were talking about him, he turned his head and sent Harri a gummy smile showing what little teeth he had coming in. It made Harri's heart clench in her chest because... because she was succeeding. Tom trusted her and loved her and she loved him. This Tom was innocent. He was only a baby and had yet to be taught the horrors of the world and forced to be this vile monstrous human desperate to survive the Second Great War and forced back into the muggle world without the safety of his magic. Struggling to survive while being a half-blood in a house dominated by pureblood heirs and prejudiced snakes. 

She'd never let him be that person. She would claw him out of it through every thick and thin sludge to ensure he remembered that he was loved by her and by his aunts. That he had to honor life as well as respect the dead. That Muggleborns were not villains. That there was more to life than power. You could be powerful but you can also be kind too. 

"Mama," Tom called out, his voice bright and eager as he gently set his plush toys aside, their soft bodies plopping against the floor. Harri, sitting nearby, quickly extinguished her cigarette, the faint scent of smoke dissipating into the air as she waved her wand. The tendrils of smoke vanished as she moved toward him, her eyes sparkling with affection. She scooped him up effortlessly, enveloping him in her warm embrace, the comforting scent of her skin surrounding him like a soft blanket.

With a joyful smile lighting up her face, she eased herself back onto the colorful blanket spread across the floor, lying on her back and cradling Tom gently on her chest. He gazed up at her, eyes wide with delight, as she made silly, exaggerated faces that made him burst into giggles. His tiny hands danced through her hair, tangling in the strands, while his fingers fiddled with the buttons of her blouse, each movement filled with innocent curiosity and happiness.

⚡️

Ginny crushed the smoldering cigarette under her boot, the remnants of smoke curling into the crisp air. She shot a piercing glare at the group of men loitering across the lot, their laughter ringing out like mockery as they exchanged furtive glances in her direction. Her mind raced with the temptation of casting a hex or two; the thought of unleashing her magic surged within her, thrilling yet risky. She'd promised Hermione she would keep her temper in check, and although she believed she was managing... sort of, the itch to retaliate was hard to ignore. The chilly breeze tugged at her hair, but the fire in her belly warmed her resolve.

Her ears perked up at the sound of someone groaning in pain and the unmistakable hit of flesh. She moved towards the back alleyway and peered down into it and sure enough some lean and tall dark skinned boy was stomping his boot on the bastard who had put his hand up her skirt. Her eyes widened in surprise when the man gave a cry of pain and the boy kicked him across the jaw hard enough to send his head back and... There was no mistaking the crack of a broken jaw.

"You ever touch an unwilling woman again, I'll fuckin' cut your dick off!" He snarled at him. "You've been warned!"

"WaAh..." The man whined. 

"Thomas Shelby sends his regards. If I were you, I'd leave and not come back." The boy spat on him and righted his cap before snatching the cap that had belonged to the man off the ground. "By order of the Peaky Blinders."

The door busted open, Harri jumped up and had Tom push behind her, crouched in front of him with her wand whipped out as fast as Hermione had hers. 

Ginny threw her hands up. "Girls! I think I'm in love!" 

Harri and Hermione dropped their wands to their sides and shared a perplexed look before looking back at Ginny. "What?" Hermione asked.

"I'm in love," Ginny practically swooned as she collapsed on a stack of books, using it as a chair much to Hermione's cry at the abuse. 

"Whose the poor sod?" Harri snickered. Ginny shot her a betrayed look. 

"I don't know."

"How can you be in lov-"

"Don't question me, Hermione!" Ginny had the goofiest look on her face. "I just know I am."

Luna took this time to drift back towards them. "His name is Isiah," She supplied. It was one of those moments the girls knew better than to question Luna. Their sweet loopy friend was strange like that. Knowing things she shouldn't. 

"Well," Hermione licked her lips. "What was he doing?"

"Beating the fuck out of that bastard who put his hand up my skirt." 

"Ah," Hermione frowned. 

"He has such nice skin..." Ginny swooned again. 

"Oh good Gods," Harri snorted. "It's a Weasley thing."

"I'm going back to work," Hermione declared, her nose wrinkling in discontent as she surveyed the chaos around her. "All of you, please leave. Now."

"Only because Kreacher is preparing a roast," Ginny replied with a mischievous grin, rising from her perch on the stack of books. And much to all of their dismay... she had accidentally sent the topmost books tumbling into another precarious pile, like a row of dominos on the verge of collapse.

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm as she let out a startled scream.

"Abort! Abort!" Harri shouted, panic lacing her voice.

"GINERVA!" Hermione shrieked, her frustration peaking as she watched the disorder escalate.

Chapter Text

"Be as you wish to seem."

- Socrates 

⚡️

Things seemed to be unfolding beautifully for Harri Potter and her sisters. Harri found immense joy in her work at Charlie's stables, where the scent of fresh hay and the warm, earthy aroma of horses filled the air. Her days were brightened by the presence of Curly, a gentle soul with a heart as soft as his demeanor. His kindness radiated like sunlight, and he reminded her so much of Luna—an easy bond had formed between them over shared moments with the animals they loved.

Hermione, ever the observant one, often found Curly intriguing. His deep knowledge about horses was unparalleled; it was as if he could speak their language, understanding their moods and needs with remarkable intuition. Harri felt fortunate to learn from him, absorbing his wisdom and nurturing her passion for these majestic creatures.

Yet, despite her admiration for Curly and her experiences with magical beings like Hippogriffs and Thestrals, Harri remained apprehensive about riding horses. The thought of mounting one filled her with dread, a stark contrast to her daring flights on broomsticks or the times she had eluded Death Eaters in a flying motorcycle cart. Horses, with their powerful forms and unpredictable nature, seemed daunting. She had never been particularly adept with creatures other than the snakes and birds she felt comfortable handling. The hesitation weighed heavily on her heart, creating a mix of excitement and fear.

For a whole month, Harri worked diligently. She came at five in the morning, pram packed with the things her boys needs, Tom strapped to her back and with a blanket on one arm, their nappy bag on her shoulder along with her purse and lunch box. She sat Tom and Teddy up in a makeshift pin that Curly and "Uncle" Charlie as he wanted to be called had made for her. Harri never had an uncle she liked before. It was nice even if he wasn't actually her uncle. 

Uncle Charlie insisted all the girls call him that and he certainly liked playing with Tom and Teddy and having a cuppa with her and Curly on their breaks. He made a wooden horse for Tom in her second week of working at his Yard - It was Tom's favorite toy now. They couldn't go anywhere without it in his tight little fist. Teddy too young for any toys without choking had ended up with a one-eye teddy bear that looked like it had gone through hell - it had belonged to Curly when he was a boy. It had meant a lot to Harri that he had gave to her son instead of his own he might have had someday. 

But from what she seen, she doubted Curly would ever have that little family of his own because people in this era were judgmental and spitful. Curly was different but he wasn't incompetent. He was kind and any girl would be lucky to have him for a husband. They would be taken care of, there was no doubt about that. 

Harri wanted to fix Uncle Charlie's leg for him. Especially with all he's done for her and allowing her to bring Tom and Teddy with her to work. She was sure magic could fix the pain at the very least and give him some mobility back in it. But how would she go about it without breaking the stature of secrecy? It was a conundrum she had yet to work through. 

Winter had settled into Small Heath, frost clinging to all the metal and nipped harshly at her cheeks. Tom and Teddy had been bundled up tight and a few warming charms cast over them to prevent them from getting sick. There wasn't much a person could do in the winter for the horses other than ensure they were fed, watered, and warm. At least Uncle Charlie had an enclosed ring in his large stable so they could get some exercise at the very least. That's what Harri was doing now while Ginny spent her day off in the stables while keeping an eye on the boys for her. 

"Have you seen this Isiah again?" Harri asked, she was quite bored walking Monaghan Boy around and around the ring. 

She supposed it might have been more fun if she rode him but again, horses scared her. She'd be hard-pressed climbing on top of one. She'd have to be handled like how Hagrid man-handled her onto Buckbeak. She didn't think any man was brave enough to manhandle her in Small Heath. The lot of them seem like pricks. Excluding Curly, Uncle Charlie and Arthur. Even this "John Shelby" didn't seem too bad when she ran into him outside of Luna's Shop a couple days back. He came to drop off a basket of goods for Tom and Teddy - Aunt Pol's orders, he said. And then he left with a wink and a little pinch to Tom's cheek. "Healthy Lad. Good on you, Love."

"I have in passing," Ginny sighed. "He winked at me a few times. Bought me a drink at The Garrison after my shift was over but he didn't stay to drink it with me."

"That's odd," Harri noted. Because it was. Normally when a man bought a drink for a woman he intended to have it with her not buy it and bow out. 

"Finn said it was because he was a Blinder. Tommy gives him work and expects it to be done when told."

There it was again. Blinder - Peaky Blinder. 

And Tommy was obviously the Boss even if he wasn't the oldest. Harri thought it strange and Hermione thought it rather facisnating. "Can you believe it, Harri? Real Gangsters. The kind from the pictures! Muggle Gangsters of the Roaring 20's! Just like in The Godfather but without the Sicilian touch!" 

Hermione was all about rules and morals so for her to be this excited over an actual group of gangsters was rather nerve-racking. It was so backward of Hermione that Harri honestly didn't know what to think other than she was pretty sure she heard about the Peaky Blinders before on one of those boring history shows Mrs. Figg watched. And if not, she honestly would have thought them to be a group that sold shoddy blinds for windows. 

Harri continued the conversation with Ginny about Isiah. If and when Ginny saw the boy again, they would all know about it afterward. 

Later once Uncle Charlie told her she could leave because he didn't want them out walking late in the dark. "No place for a Woman and her bairn. Get on home, girl, and mind you stay put in it too." Harri and Ginny made their way across the bridge of The Cut and past The Garrison. They could see Luna's shop from where they were, her new sign swinging slightly in the wind and creaking with each breeze. 

Four hands surronding eye to represent the four of them. 

"It looks great," Ginny noted. "I can't believe she tricked Arthur into having it made for her."

Harri eyed it critically. "Really? The bloke has a soft spot for her. It does look great though."

"If I didn't say it first," Ginny laughed. "I'd assume you only thought so because you designed it. Seriously... How did none of us know you could actually draw?"

"Because nobody wanted a girl who could draw. They wanted a savior," Harri muttered. Ginny grimaced. 

"You really are a sad fucker."

"Fuck off," Harri grumbled. "Let's get out of the snow, pick up the pace."

"A sad fucker and an Overlord." 

"I'm going to throat punch you."

"A sad fucker and an Overlord whose Kinky- Ughbalh!" Ginny clutched her throat. "Again, mummy..."

Harri laughed. "You are so stupid sometimes."

Ginny's eyes were watering as she winked at her. Unbelievable, she got her throat punched and she still was as cheeky as ever. Teddy grumbled under his heavy blanket, rolling over in his pram. Ginny patted his back to settle him. 

Tom giggled from behind Harri, she turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. He had his dummy in his mouth, sucking away, his eyes dark blue eyes brighter than usual. 

"What is it?" Harri asked. 

Ginny pointed to Polly standing off to the side of Luna's shop now. She had a fur coat on that resembled Draco's ferret coat from when he'd been transfigured by decoy Moody. "Ah," Harry smiled. Now she knew why Tom giggled. She supposed it was a rather funny-looking coat even if it was probably very warm. She had someone with her. Another woman... That looked like every other fucking Shelby - Ada. 

"Polly," Harri greeted. Ginny just waved as she was still struggling to get her airway to clear back up. Perhaps Harri shouldn't have hit her so hard but oh well, too late now to do anything about it. Polly gave Ginny a concerned look. "Don't worry about her, she was being a cunt. So I punched her in the throat."

"You girls are trouble," Polly chuckled. "This is my niece, Ada Thorne. Can we come in and have a chat?"

Ada mumbled a soft hello. Harri noted her eyes were puffy, glassy, and bloodshot as if she'd been crying a lot lately. 

"Ginny, have Mione put the kettle on," Harri said as she opened the shop door and let them all inside before she followed them in. She pulled her cloak off and took the time to start unwrapping her sling from around her body after turning her back to the countertop to ease Tom onto. Polly immediately came to get her snuggles in with the boy who gladly climbed into her arms. 

"Oh, look at him," She cooed. "He's already gotten so big."

"He likes rich milk," Harri smiled. Tom had indeed picked up plenty of weight over the last month. He was a healthy chunky baby and she would die on the hill that Tom was as adorable as chunky puppies with his little rolls and chubby fists and ankles. 

Not to mention Ginny had the tendency to give him puddings whenever she wasn't looking. He could tear a Chelsea Bun up like no tomorrow as well as empire biscuits.

Teddy let out a noise. Polly immediately began fussing over him too. The jealous boy, Harri thought fondly. 

"I'm Harriet, you can call me Harri," Harri greeted Ada. Ada smiled but she didn't say anything. "Can I help you?" She prodded at the women. 

Luna came skipping in with a tray of all the fixings for a tea. The only reason any of it didn't get sloshed out was because Hermione charmed the living hell out of all the porcelain. She didn't trust Luna not to break their things even if it was things they kept in her shop. They tended to congregate in Luna's Secrets rather than their own home. Maybe it was because of the nice big storefront window Luna had and it let them people watch. They all like to people watch. It was nice to see normal people not so buried down by the trauma of having to kill someone or be killed yourself. 

Polly shot Ada a look when the woman opened her mouth and began to say something that sounded an awful like "Not from yo--"

"I know you girls are different," Polly said.

Plain, simple and put right out there. Harri liked it. She hated beating around the bush - just fucking spit it out. Harri cocked her head to the side, encouraging her to go on. Not that she needed it. The tray clinked heavily down on the table Luna used to read palms. 

"I know you have magic," Polly inhaled deeply through her nose. "And I would like for you to help us." 

"Take a seat then," Harri waved her hand at the table and Polly handed her Tom. He snuggled against her chest instantly. "I'll just go put Tom and Teddy down and when I get back you can tell what it is you need."

Harri wasn't going to try and deny it to Polly. There was something about the woman that just knew. Maybe not in the way Luna just knew things but she did know. Luna had said she felt the magic in the woman so maybe she was a muggleborn who never got the chance to learn magic. It was just a guess. 

Then again, Hermione had mentioned that some Gypises - the ones who didn't con people out of their good money - were like druids and Volvas or even the witches and wizards of ancient Greece. Old magic. They were sensitive to magic and auras and could cast a curse just as well as they could pinpoint the origins of a curse. 

Polly dreams. They knew of that. They knew she could sense things in people. It was easy to gather that information through just a small amount of digging no matter how much Hermione yelled at her that it was very impolite to go digging through one's head. Harri found Occulmency rather easy once she didn't have Voldemort trying to mess with her head and have his emotions eat at hers. Legilimency had been even easier too considering the death stick she had up her sleeve. The wand really was powerful. 

When she returned to front of the shop, Ada and Luna were having what looked like a staring contest. Luna had her fingers on the womans pulse and holding her palm. Ginny was flipped upside down on the sofa blowing bubbles with her wad of Droobles best blowing gum. She was reading a glamoured copy of the Witch weekly magazine. One of the many magizines they subscribed to just to have some contact with the magical side. 

Polly met her gaze and Harri sat down across from her just as Luna blinked and pulled back. "I think you're very brave," Luna said softly. "But I think it best you and your husband move back home where you'll be safe. Your future is rather grim at the moment." 

Ada laughed in disbelief. "I knew you brought me here to be messed with!" Her voice was full of loathing and almost desperate sounding as she faced Polly. "You think I'd fall for this? We all know how this con works."

"Don't call Luna a hack," Ginny stated calmly.  "None of us give a rats arse if you're a Shelby - insult our sister and we'll do more than cut you."

"Ginny!" Harri scolded. 

Ginny hid her face again with her magazine. Harri turned to Ada. "Believe what you want. We won't try to convince you. Luna told you what she saw and if you don't like it then fuck off." 

Ada shifted uncomfortably. 

"That's not the help we needed," Polly said. She was glaring at Ada. "Her husbands sick. Pestilence. Doctors said he won't live to see Spring."

"And you want us to heal him?" Harri gathered. 

"I want you to try," Polly said, her voice thick with emotion now. "He's got a little boy. Barely two years old. He should get to see him grow up."

Harri turned to Luna. "Luna?"

"I think he can be helped but it would have to be soon, Harriet. I still think they should move back to Small Heath. Arthur says London won't be safe for a Shelby in a years time."

"When did my brother tell you that?" Ada demanded. 

"He hasn't yet."

Polly and Ada shared a look and then turned to Harri but when they notice Harri didn't even blink to that statment they now looked at a very smiling Luna. "He'll ask to come with me to the woods tomorrow when I tell him about it. We're going to go look for Green Men."

"I'm leaving," Ada stood up. "This was a waste of time. The girl is clearly looney!"

Harri had her wand out instantly. Ada was slammed onto her chair. Polly gasped. "Do not ever call Luna that! EVER!" Harri snarled. The tip of her wand glowed just barely an eerily red. "You came here, to us. We did not come to you! So I suggest you leave before I seal your mouth shut permanently. And so help me... you mention any of this to anyone and I'll come for you. I shall never let you rest or ever find a day of peace." 

Polly murmured an apology towards Luna and an even bigger "Forgive her, please" to Harri and dragged Ada out of the shop woth her hissing at her. "The Iele are not to be tried, Ada!"

"Hermione is going to be furious with you," Ginny sang. 

"She insulted Luna!" Harri spat. 

"Did she?" Luna tilted her head in confusion. 

"Yes!" Harri cried. 

"Are we still helping her husband then?" Luna asked, unbothered it seems.

"... yes," Harri sighed. 

Luna beamed. "Her future is already looking brighter then!"

Chapter Text

"Fire is a natural symbol of life and passion, though it is the one element in which nothing can actually live."

- SUSANNE KATHERINA LANGER

⚡️

Esme Shelby was more than a gypsy at heart, it coursed through her veins, intertwining with her very soul. She clung to the beliefs and rituals that many dismissed with laughter, even her husband, despite his own lineage of gypsy heritage. When the new girls arrived in town, Esme felt an unsettling shift in the air, an invisible thread that tugged at her instincts. She knew those girls had something about them that told her they were not normal. There was something distinctly peculiar about them, an aura that set them apart from ordinary folk. 

In particular, one girl captivated Esme's attention—a girl with hair as dark and rich as spilled blood and eyes as poisonous and deadly as a snake poised to strike. They seemed as if they glowed because they were so terribly vibrant. John said they looked like sprouts of grass from the snow. The girl radiated an intense energy, almost luminous in their vividness, but all Esme could see in fleeting glimpses of that haunting girl was an ominous shadow, the girl was death.

Every time a glimpse of her caught Esme off guard, a shiver raced down her spine, a primal instinct screaming at her to flee, to escape the impending doom that felt as though it were crawling just beneath her skin. Yet, she was a true gypsy, and a member of the resilient Lee clan... the idea of running was not within her spirit to do so. No, she would not turn her back; she would stand tall and face whatever darkness lay ahead. For even death, when it sweeps through the village with its cold touch and merciless passage, brought forth a promise of renewal, a cycle of life in its wake... Life. 

To have Death you must have life. 

It was this resoluteness that compelled Esme, a proper gypsy, to confront her fears. She would brave the chills and the pervasive skepticism, determined to meet death head-on and pose a single, pivotal question... A simple, one little question.

Can you keep my family safe? 

Esme did not want to make a move to London. She and John had just had a baby and he's got four others. She wants him to see his children grow up beside her. Not her being the only one to experience the joys of life without him by her side. He was the love of her life, it may have been arranged but John was hers, and she his. She did not want to lose him due to Tommy's ever-quenching ambitions. So she made the decision, if Polly and Ada can go to the Lele and ask for the messenger of Death to give more time to Freddie then Perhaps she might hold off on taking her John away too. 

Luna's Secrets was a place she tried not to wander near. Not that she feared it, no, she just really didn't want to offend the Lele in any way. She was sure they could feel her as much as she felt the magic around them even if she was not magic herself. Gypsy tended to have that feel around them, at least the ones who dream. And Esme dreamed as much as Polly even if she did not say as much. She had the most terrible feeling about London like it was the beginning of something that would take her John away. She did not want him to be taken from her. She wanted him beside her, safe and warm in their bed where she could feel his heart beneath her fingertips and smell him upon waking and kissing him as if it were their last. 

Esme paused at the vibrantly blue-painted door, shifting her babe in her arms. Katie and Nathan stood behind her. Esme didn't want to leave them home alone no matter how much John had done it before she was in the picture. They were just children after all. They needed to be looked after and be safe. 

The sign on the door said they were closed but the light upstairs was on. She could hear the girls laughing and glasses clinking. They must be having an early dinner or tea. She wasn't sure but it sounded as if they were having a good evening. She wished she could have a good evening as well, but worry ate at her until she felt sick. She just needed to ask the question and then she would leave. 

"Mum," Nathan said quietly. "Aren't ya going to knock?"

"Yes," Esme cleared her throat and knocked quickly. 

The laughter from the lightly cracked window halted and footsteps on the staircase came before the shop light was flickering on. Esme held her breath as the door came flying open. She swallowed thickly at the sight of the very girl she wished to see. 

Harriett Potter. 

"Can I help you?" Harri asked, her gaze dropping to the children and then to the baby in her arms. She immediately stepped aside and motioned them to come in. "It bloody freezing out, get inside."

Esme didn't think twice about moving with Nathan and Katie following close behind, Harri shut the door and turned to face her again. Suddenly Esme lost her courage and felt like she was being dissected by the witch in front of her. 

Harri was patient. From the looks of it, the woman was a gypsy, and with what experience they already had with these people much to Hermione's delight, she knew they were going to have to put the kettle on and get the whiskey or rum out because they all always lost their voice when they came face to face with them. Especially Harri. She, honest to fucking Merlin, did not understand why they got so bloody skittish around her. 

She wasn't scary, was she? She knew her eyes, especially after the Battle of Hogwarts since waking from death had changed them to that deathly glow but it's not like she could help it. It must have been from being what that three brothers story called "Master of Death" or whatever the hell that meant. Harri and Hermione were still researching what exactly that entailed because so far all that Harri was good at was snooping through people's minds and bringing dead things back to life - which they swore not to even talk about since she accidentally zapped Lavender Brown back into existence when helping move her body so the Patil twins didn't have to do it. 

Hermione and Harry acted like the girl was alive from the start and didn't speak of it again until in the safety of Grimmauld Palace. They didn't even tell Ron who would have immediately thought the very worst of her if they had. Last they heard, Lavender was doing very well and healed as normally as someone who wasn't brought back from the death. She wasn't even affected by Lycanthropy - a win all around. 

It's the eyes, Harri grumbled. People hated her eyes as much as she did but she promised Hermione she wouldn't glamour them like she did the horrendous scar that used to be just a little lightning bolt on her forehead. It wasn't so little anymore. Nor was it just her forehead. 

The Horcrux had cracked her face open as it ripped itself through her like a wrecking ball through a brick wall. If these people thought her eyes were creepy then they would never be able to face what was left after that traumatic experience of her whole bloody life. The pain was still there for days. Throbbing across her eyes and down to her lips. It hurt the most in the cold. She looked like she had her face blown up and sewn back together by an incompetent seamstress. 

"Tea?" Harri asked. 

The woman nodded her head. Harri led the way back upstairs to the little tea room Luna and Hermione made up. It was quiet cozy and very calming. Neville would have loved it due to all the flora and fuana they had smattered around the room, especially the ivy wall with hydrangeas planted in the wall through and around it. 

Ginny and Hermione were playing chess though it was very bad because Hermiome was shite at it. The chest pieces were behaving and acting muggle. Luna was hanging upside down from the pipe bar they had put in the middle of the room, acting like a swing of sorts. Her face was all red and her curls were loose from her normal braid. She was grinning, singing some song about kittens and lollipops. Normal Luna behavior.

Teddy was sound alseep in the bassinet they sat up near the window. It was nap time, after all.

And Tom, well Tom was doing what he normally did around this time. Play with his blocks and knock them over with an evil roar before stacking them again. Sometimes she supposes she should be worried about his love for destruction but to be entirely honest, she loved breaking things too especially when fire was involved.

Esme sat, Katie and Nathan sat down on a sofa behind Luna, they were quiet as she instructed them to be. Little Joey, in her arms, shifted annoyed. He was never one to hold still. Esme was startled when the bushy-haired girl came up to her and held her hand out. "The baby," Hermione said. "You'll need your hands free. He can play with Tom."

Esme didn't want to actually hand over her child but she did so anyway and true to her word, the girl placed Joey on the blanket beside Tom. Tom immediately stopped stacking his blocks and looked curiously at the boy who was much smaller than him and could barely sit up without falling over. Dark blue eyes shifted over to Harri and she smiled at her boy who then looked back at Joey and carefully handed over one of his blocks. 

Joey took it and began to gnaw on the corner of it. Tom's face scrunched in disgust but otherwise went back to playing with his blocks. 

"Luna!" Harri called. 

Luna flipped off the bar and skipped over towards them, twirling in a way that almost looked as if she were dancing. She plopped down beside Esme and grabbed her hands before she even had the chance to pull back. 

Esme looked over at the only girl in the room she had yet to make eye contact with. A ginger with hair more like the sun setting than the burning sunrise of Harri. She was tall, as tall as Tommy she would supposed, and with a longer nose a round face, and eyes as blue as sea glass. She was a very pretty girl, Esme thought. Definitely a lot prettier than the girls she snuck around with before she married John. She now understood why John had seemed rather bashful when he mentioned her. Maybe it wasn't entirely because she slugged him upside the head. 

"You worry," Luna's voice brought her back from staring at the girl. 

"Yes," Esme gently pulled her hands away from Luna. "I have a lot to worry about."

"I understand," Luna smiled at her and Esme found she liked this one. There was something about her that was endearing. Calming even. Undoubtedly it explained why Arthur delighted in being around her so much. It surely calmed the voices in his own head. 

"What is it that you want from us?" Harri asked. 

This was it. The time to ask. Just a little spell... Something to keep John safe. That's all she wanted. 

"My husband," Esme looked away from Harri. Those eyes were too unnerving to stare at for more than a second. "I... I wish for him to be safe."

Harri frowned. "Don't all wives want their husbands to be safe?" 

"John is different," Esme blurted. 

"Ah-ha!" Ginny stood up. "Esme Shelby! John Shelby is your husband! That bastard..." 

Esme laughed. She couldn't help it. John had and will most certainly continue to be called worse things. "Yes," She said. "He said you had one hell of a slapping arm on you too, Ginny, was it?"

She huffed. "Yes, Ginny - thank fuck - he didn't tell you my name was Gigi."

"Oh, he did," Esme smiled.

Ginny scowled. "Of course he did. That Bastard." 

"Are we fated to be plagued by all the Shelby's?" Hermione asked aloud. "Everyone but Finn has come here at some point. I thought you gypsys thought us "Iele" were to be avoided."

"Some of us Gypises, as you put it, have little common sense. We like daring it for the sake of accomplishing something others are frightened of." 

"I see," Hermione then smiled. "I'm Hermione Granger. If you want a rune stone, me or Harri should do it. Ginny will most likely cause everyone in a half a kilometer to be blown up--"

"OI!"

"It's true," Hermione brushed her off. "You're horrid at runes."

"That is unfortunately true," Ginny sighed. 

Harri was already up going towards a shelf and shifting through one of the small chests there. When she turned she had a very deep black stone in her hand. It was small, about the size of her thumb. She had quickly passed it to Hermione who pulled some silver-looking pen from her pocket and began chiseling something into the surface. Harri turned away again and grabbed something from the top shelf, it was no bigger than the palm of her hand, a vial full of amber liquid with specks of black. 

"Give this to Polly, would you? It's for Freddie."

"Yes," Esme took it and tucked it safely in her pocket. Hermione handed the stone over. 

"Make sure John keeps this on him at all times, it'll protect him like you wanted--" she pulled it back quickly, looking stern. "It can not save him from death, Mrs. Shelby."

"I understand," Esme reached for it again. Hermione let her take it. "How much?"

Harri waved her off, her gaze too busy on Joey and Tom playing. Tom was trying to help Joey stack a block. "Just bring your son over sometimes. Tom would benefit from playing with other children. Teddy's too little to play with his brother." 

Esme quickly agreed and left as fast as she could with Katie and Nathan running after her. She hissed at them to not say a word to anyone about anything. 

As soon as Esme was gone, Kreacher popped into the room with a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches. He grinned widely at his little Master. 

"RE-RE!" Tom yelled, crawling towards him as fast as he could, blocks abandoned. Kreacher immediately put the plate down and scooped him up. 

The girls watched Kreacher practically coo over Tom. A sight that still disturbed them all but Luna. 

"Awe."

Chapter Text

"I wish you a kinder Sea."

- Emily Dickenson

⚡️

Tommy Shelby lay awake in his bed, tossing and turning, the sheets tangled around him as if they were trying to hold him down. He had tried everything to find comfort, but nothing seemed to work. His body ached from the weight of his thoughts, his mind a storm of endless worries. He was no stranger to sleepless nights, to the relentless march of time when his thoughts refused to quiet, but tonight felt different. It felt heavier, more suffocating, like the very air around him was pressing down, urging him to stay awake.

He couldn't remember the last time he had a decent night's sleep. It had been too long, too many restless nights stretched into years, each one blending into the next until the very concept of rest felt foreign. Not even the opium, which had become both a companion and a curse over the years, could give him the relief he so desperately sought. The drug would dull the edges of his pain, but it never took it away entirely. It never quieted the voices in his head, the constant hum of worry and dread.

Tonight, the thoughts were louder than usual. His mind wandered to the various loose ends in his life—unfinished business, deals gone wrong, the constant threat of violence that lingered in the air like smoke. His empire was built on shifting sands, and no matter how solid the foundation appeared on the outside, he knew it could crumble at any moment. His enemies were always circling, waiting for the right moment to strike. He had learned that nothing in his life was ever truly stable, and the uncertainty of it all gnawed at him, a hunger that could never be sated.

Tommy's eyes flickered to the clock on the bedside table, but the numbers blurred in his vision. Hours had passed since he had first crawled into bed, but sleep still eluded him. He reached up and rubbed his temples, as if trying to massage the tension out of his skull. His body ached with exhaustion, yet his mind refused to let him rest.

The worn mattress beneath him creaked as he shifted again, the springs groaning in protest with each movement. The bed had seen better days, but it was all he had—an old, beaten thing that had been with him through countless nights like this. He could almost feel the weight of the years it had carried, the way it sagged under the burden of his restless body.

With a frustrated grunt, Tommy finally sat up. The movement sent a wave of sharp pain through his lower back, a familiar ache that had settled into his bones over the years. His back cracked as he stretched, the sound a painful reminder of the toll his lifestyle had taken on him. The weight of the world seemed to settle in his shoulders, and for a moment, he wondered if he would ever truly find peace, or if the restless nights would simply continue until they consumed him entirely.

He stood up, his legs stiff from lying still for so long, and reached for his trousers. The fabric felt rough against his skin as he pulled them on, fastening them with his suspenders in a series of practiced movements. He didn't bother with a shirt—he was too used to the cold to care about such things. His vest went on next, its familiar weight grounding him in the moment. Tommy had never been one to waste time, and the faster he moved, the more the restlessness seemed to fade.

Pulling on his boots was the final act of defiance against the night. Each step he took was a small protest against the paralysis that sleep seemed to demand. He wasn't going to lie there, suffocating under the weight of his own mind. He needed to move.

A walk. That was what he needed. A long, solitary walk through the city, where the streets would swallow him whole and the factory smoke would choke him, but at least he'd be able to clear his head. Maybe then he could sleep, if only for a few hours. Maybe the act of breathing in the smog-filled air and feeling the ground beneath his feet would make the tension in his body fade away, even if just for a moment.

He pushed open the door to his room, the old wood creaking in protest. The dim light of the early morning filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting shadows on the worn floorboards. Tommy stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet that ran the length of the corridor.

His mind continued to churn, the thoughts spinning faster now as he made his way downstairs. The noise of the house was quiet at this hour, the muffled sounds of the world outside barely filtering through the thick walls. His mind, however, was anything but quiet. It buzzed with the relentless hum of unresolved problems, broken promises, and the ever-present fear that he was losing control of everything he had worked so hard to build.

As he reached the door, Tommy paused for a moment, his hand resting on the knob. The chill of the night air would be harsh against his skin, but he didn't mind. He needed to feel something—anything—to break the numbness that had settled into his bones.

With a deep breath, he stepped outside, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face. It was a relief, in a way. The sharpness of the night seemed to pierce through the fog in his mind, and for a moment, he felt clear-headed, almost alive again.

The streets of Birmingham were quiet at this hour, the only sounds the occasional rustle of wind and the distant hum of factory machines. The city seemed like a living, breathing thing in the dark, its heart beating in time with the machinery that powered it. Tommy knew it like the back of his hand. He had walked these streets countless times before, each step carrying a memory, each corner holding a story.

The night felt colder than usual, and Tommy pulled his coat tighter around him as he walked. The air tasted of smoke and soot, the stench of industry that filled the lungs of everyone in this city. He walked with purpose, his boots striking the cobblestones with a steady rhythm as he made his way through the empty streets. The factory smoke hung heavy in the air, swirling around him like an oppressive fog. It didn't bother him; he was used to it by now. It was part of the city, part of the life he had built here.

His thoughts, however, refused to quiet. They churned relentlessly, the faces of enemies and allies alike flashing through his mind. His empire—his family—was fragile. Every day felt like a delicate balancing act, and he knew that one misstep could send it all crashing down. It had happened before, and he couldn't help but wonder when it would happen again.

He couldn't escape the feeling that he was being watched, that there were eyes on him even in the stillness of the night. It was a feeling he had grown accustomed to over the years, but tonight it was stronger, more insistent. The paranoia that had been creeping into his thoughts for days now gnawed at him, a constant reminder that danger was never far away.

Tommy continued walking, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. He needed to clear his head, but he wasn't sure that a walk would do it. Still, he had to try. The thought of returning to his bed, of lying there in the dark with his thoughts, was unbearable. He needed to move, to breathe, to feel something other than the weight of his own thoughts.

Maybe, just maybe, when he returned from this walk, the restless buzzing in his mind would subside. Maybe he could finally close his eyes and find the rest he so desperately needed. But until then, the night was his to wander through, one step at a time.

⚡

The girls had been busy since moving to Small Heath. Harri spent alot of time working the stables but not for the last few days, being winter hols and all that. Uncle Charlie banned her until the week following the New Year. She wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth so she'd spent the days working Luna's Secrets due to Luna being busy with doing whatever it was she and Arthur did. 

It was a rarity though when Ginny was home for dinner. Harry, the barkeep told her to take the night off, spend Christmas Eve with her family. Only Luna wasn't in it because Arthur had a fight and she was going for moral support like every other fight he had. Harri was kind of jealous... She would love to see Arthur kick some arse. 

He was the one Shelby she enjoyed having over - nothing against Esme, but their lightly treading friendship was built because they forced their sons to play together. But Arthur? He was a delight. He had no filter when it came to when he was feeling rather passionate about something. And he was passionate about his love for all women. 

At first that might have worried Harri and Hermione but then they took notice that Arthur would never do anything untoward to their Luna. Not a single thing. If anything he was like a shield for her, and their budding friendship was very beautiful. One might think he loved her by the way he looked upon her but at the same time, he never looked for too long. Harri had no shame when she used Legilimency on him only to discover that Arthur Shelby truly belived that Luna had come down from the Heavens to save him. She was an angel - his Holy Mary in every sense. 

Love would surely grow, of that Harri was absolutely sure of but the kind of Love between a man or woman... Harri was under the belief that was a line, Arthur would not dare cross - ever.  Which was perfectly fine for her, and even Ginny. They liked Arthur, and they each would hate to have to kill him. Hermione didn't think it would be entirely bad but even she had an issue with 34 year old man catching feelings for a 17-year-old girl. Thankfully, it just looked like a sibling love and none of them had any qualms about an older brother looking out for a little sister. Just as long as Arthur didn't cross that line. 

Harri sat on the sofa playing with Teddy and enjoying a glass of red as Hermione went on another tirade about Ginny's anger issues. Apparently, though Harri hadn't been listening, Ginny had smashed a bottle at the Garrison and threatened to go on a "stabby spree" if she was catcalled one more time. 

Harri... Was sort of rooting for her, though she wouldn't say that with Hermione in earshot. Hermione's principle of Moral lecture was a buzzkill and Harri liked her buzz from this fine elven wine at the moment. Then again, Harri's morals are shoddy at best and had been for sometime. She was already at the whole shoot first ask questions later time in her life. She'd rather just kill the problem and go to bed without the responsibility. 

It's a good thing she wasn't a barmaid, she would have snuff everyone lights out the moment they opened their stupid mugs. Or severely disfigure them. Harri was quite keen on the mouth-moving curse that replaced ones mouth with their arsehole. 

Hermione on the other hand, had called her barbaric for loving that curse so much. Oh well. Fond memories of watching Umbridge puke up her literal shit will have to last her. 

"Mama," Tom crawled over to her, "mama... Milk."

Kreacher, having heard his little masters request popped in the room with a warm bottle and gave it to him. 

"You spoil him," Harri said without any heat because she too was guilty of giving in to any and all of Tom requests. How could she not? Mr. Sweet Face was adorable and so handsome and she just wanted to cuddle him for all her days. 

"Kreacher may does and Kreacher may not. Future Dark Lord Little Master needs to be strong and Healthy if Kreacher is to help him take over the world."

Whatever Hermione was gojnf to say had petered off into stunned silence. Kreacher having waited long enough for someone to speak, popped from the room. 

Harri just took another sip of her wine and looked down at her eldest boy. "World domination, huh? Sounds about right with you."

Tom just grinned at her and sucked his bottle. 

Ginny held back a struggling snort before she broke out into a fit of laughter due to Hermione's constipated look - eye twitch and all. 

The door swung open with a creak, and Luna bounced into the room, a bright smile on her face.

"What's got you so happy?" Ginny inquired.

"Arthur has come out first in another fight!" Luna announced as she settled down next to Harri on the sofa. "He's scheduled for a match this weekend and has extended an invitation for us to attend." With a flourish, she produced four tickets from her handbag. "Look! He's even taken care of our tickets for us!"

Hermione wrinkled her nose in mild disapproval, but Ginny and Harri cheered at the thought of finally being able to watch a sporting event once more. Their yearning for Quidditch was forever ongoing, but they also welcomed the sight of blood in other contact sports. Boxing was pretty much the only sport around here where one could watch someone get the shite kicked out of them for fun. 

"No, thank you," Hermione sniffed. "I'll watch the boys, Harri. You and Ginny can go."

"You should give the other ticket to Isiah," Harri teased, pushing Ginny lightly with her sock-cladded toes. 

"I think I will," Ginny stood up and Luna handed over the ticket. 

"He's at Charlie's," Luna provided. 

"Wait!" Hermione jumped up. "Ginny! We are still discussing your anger--"

"I think I said all that needs to be said, Hermione," Ginny brushed her off and tugged her coat on. "I have a handsome lad to snatch up."

"More like cock to rid--" Harri was cut off when Hermione smacked her upside the head. "Ow, Mione! Rude!" 

"Don't talk like that in front of the babies!"

"They're not even listening!" Harri cried.

Tom had gone back to being completely engrossed in building with his colorful blocks and arranging his stuffed animals, completely oblivious to the frustrated mutterings and curses coming from Harri. Lost in his own imagination, he babbled happily to himself, completely absorbed in his own little world. Teddy of course could say only two words - "ma" and "no!"

Hermione made a disgruntled noise and shot up, storming from the room. Luna laughed in her hand. 

"Wow," Ginny snorted. "See ya."

The door closed behind her. Harri gathered Tom in her arms and sat back down beside Luna. "Go on," She urged. "Tell me all about your night out."

Luna's chatter continued into the late hours of the night, her voice carrying on as though she were a bubbling stream, pouring out thoughts and observations with no sign of stopping. She talked about everything and nothing all at once, her words flowing in a gentle stream until the inevitable happened: the weight of her own words grew heavier than her eyelids could hold. Before long, she was leaning against the couch, her breath growing slower, her eyes closing involuntarily. Her gentle mumbling quieted as she drifted into a half-conscious state, her body slipping into the beginnings of sleep.

Kreacher, popped into the room, his presence as quiet as a shadow. He moved swiftly to her side, his bony hands taking hold of Luna as though she weighed no more than a feather. With a skill honed over time, Kreacher gently lifted the drowsy girl and carried her to her bed, carefully tucking her in as she murmured unintelligible things in her sleep. This was a nightly routine for him—he had long grown accustomed to Luna's tendency to speak herself into slumber on the sofa. It had become a habit, one he didn't mind. He took a small amount of pride in his care for the odd young woman.

Harri, meanwhile, held her son Tom close to her chest. His soft snores sent waves of warmth through her, melting her heart into a state of pure tenderness. She couldn't help but smile down at his tiny form, the peacefulness of his sleep a stark contrast to the nightmares that still lingered in her own mind. She slowly carried him into their shared bedroom, the weight of him a constant reminder of the life she was trying to protect. She laid him carefully on the bed, making sure he was comfortable before rising to retrieve Teddy from his bassinet.

Teddy, the youngest of her two children, was asleep as well, but Harri couldn't help but check on him. She gently picked him up, her movements practiced and fluid, as though she had done this countless times. With tenderness, she laid him in his crib, brushing his soft hair away from his forehead with a fingertip before walking to her side of the bed. She didn't feel the need to bother with a nightgown tonight, not when the thoughts swirling in her mind were so much heavier than any piece of clothing.

Harri climbed into bed, her body sinking into the softness of the mattress, but sleep eluded her. She held Tom close to her chest, his warmth grounding her, but still, her mind refused to quiet.

The memories came rushing back, unbidden and relentless. The screams of her friends, her classmates—their voices echoing in her ears. She could still hear the terror, the agony, as they were ripped away from her. The flashes of colored light—red, green, yellow, purple—blinded her, each flash a memory of a life lost, a life she couldn't save. The faces of the dead lingered in her mind, their eyes pleading for help even as they fell.

The knot of regret twisted painfully in her stomach, and anger churned within her, sharp and bitter. She couldn't shake it. She couldn't let go of the anger, the regret, the feeling that she should have done something more. She should have fought harder, should have saved them all. But the truth was, she hadn't, and now she had to live with it.

She let out a frustrated breath and called into the stillness of the room, her voice soft but commanding. "Kreacher."

And just like that, the house elf appeared before her, his large, bat-like ears twitching in alertness. "Great and powerful mistress called for Kreacher?" he asked in his low, gravelly voice, bowing deeply, as though he were paying homage to royalty.

Harri sat up in bed, her tired eyes staring at him, her mind racing. "Watch the boys for me, will you? You can sleep here, too."

Kreacher's eyes brightened at the mention of his duties. His usual gloomy demeanor lifted for a moment, his voice filled with determination. "Oh yes! Kreacher will do so with honor, mistress!" he responded eagerly. His tone was serious, though his excitement was clear.

Harri stood up, moving toward him, her hands brushing back her messy hair. She patted his head in a gesture that was both affectionate and gentle. "I'll be back later," she said, her words soft, almost as if she were reassuring herself more than him.

Kreacher's face flushed under her touch, but he simply nodded. "Kreacher will take care of the boys, mistress. Do not worry."

Without another word, Harri grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and slipped out of the room, leaving the warmth of the house behind.

The night air hit her as she stepped outside, cold and biting, but it felt necessary. She needed the chill, needed the clarity it brought to her mind. She pulled out a cigarette, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the small stick. Her wand flicked into her hand, and with a quick motion, she lit the cigarette, the tip glowing in the dark. The wind whipped at her face, and she shielded the flame, puffing out a cloud of smoke once the cigarette was finally alight. She tucked her wand back up her sleeve and exhaled a heavy sigh, the smoke swirling into the night air.

Her shoes clicked against the pavement as she walked, each step echoing in the quiet of the street. The familiar rhythm of her steps calmed her mind, allowing her to push the painful memories into the back of her thoughts, if only for a moment. She didn't notice at first, but there was someone else walking towards her from the opposite direction.

The collision was sudden—unexpected—and neither of them had time to react before they bumped into each other. Harri's cigarette flew from her lips, but a pair of leather-gloved hands caught her around the waist, steadying her with surprising gentleness. She instinctively clutched at the stranger's coat, her fingers tightening as she tried to regain her balance. The small, now-lost cigarette remained in her hand for just a moment longer, before she felt it being plucked from her fingers.

Harri's gaze met his, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. His eyes, an intense shade of blue, stared back at her with an almost calculating calm. She was taken aback, and for a split second, she could only blink in confusion. Without missing a beat, the man—no, the stranger—took the cigarette from her hand and, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, took a long drag from it. Harri's mouth parted slightly as she watched him, the surprise still registering in her mind.

"You cost me a cigarette," he said, his voice rough with sleep, and yet laced with an underlying amusement. "I think I'll keep this one, eh?"

He exhaled the smoke lazily, before letting her go and walking past her, his pace steady and unhurried. Harri stood still for a moment, staring after him, a strange sensation twisting in her stomach. There was something unsettling, something... intriguing about him, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. She shook her head, brushing the feeling aside, and tried to dismiss the moment for what it was. Just another encounter in the city.

Thomas bloody Shelby, she thought bitterly, her mind returning to the irritation she felt. Of course. He had to be the one to ruin her quiet walk.

But something about the encounter lingered, and though Harri would never admit it aloud, she couldn't stop herself from glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes catching the faint outline of the man's figure as he disappeared into the distance.

⚡

Tommy's bed creaked beneath him as he lay back down, the weight of his body sinking into the worn mattress. He hadn't even bothered to undress; his clothes were still on, his boots still firmly planted on the floor, their soles pressed into the wood beneath them. His cap, which had been pulled off in haste, now rested across the top of his clock, lying there like some abandoned piece of his own self. His cold blue eyes stared blankly up at the plaster of the ceiling, but the view didn't offer him any relief. The silence of the room only seemed to amplify the noise in his mind, making his thoughts feel even more suffocating.

The late-night walk he had taken, hoping it would clear his head, had done nothing but worsen the storm brewing inside of him. It hadn't worked. It never worked. He had wandered the streets, his feet taking him in no particular direction, hoping that the cold air would freeze the thoughts in his head, that the city, with all its factory smoke and choking exhaust, would somehow cleanse his soul. But no—of course not. Instead, he had run into her. Harriett bloody Potter.

The mere thought of her stirred something in him, a shift deep inside that he couldn't control. The memory of her—her pale, freckled face, her bright green eyes that reminded him of fresh spring grass pushing through the melting snow—was a strange contrast to the cold of the night. Those eyes had haunted him since the moment he saw them, vivid against the grey backdrop of the city streets. She had this way of looking at him, like she could see right through him, reading the things he kept buried under layers of rage and deflection.

Her lips had been plump and rose-colored, like they were made to be kissed, but it was more than that. There was an undeniable softness to her that seemed to cut through the hardness he had built around himself. That softness made him angry. It reminded him too much of everything he had lost, everything he'd tried to shut out. He had spent years building walls—walls that were sturdy enough to keep people at arm's length. But Harri... Harri made him want to tear down every brick, every barrier he had painstakingly put in place. She had a way of breaking through with just a glance, and it terrified him.

It didn't help that she was beautiful. God, she was beautiful. But that beauty—the curve of her face, the way her hair fell in fiery waves down her back, the way her skin seemed to glow in the dim light of the street—was an insult to him. Beauty had been a cruel trick in his life. Every time he had let beauty into his world, it had come with a price. It had been a promise of something real, something worth fighting for, but all he had gotten in return was betrayal.

The last time he'd trusted a beautiful woman, the results had been disastrous. The lies, the deceit, the manipulation... it had torn him apart. He'd allowed himself to believe in someone once—he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he could trust her. But in the end, that same beauty had stabbed him in the back, leaving scars that no one could see but him. He had learned the hard way to keep his distance from beautiful faces. The price of affection, of opening up to someone like that, was always far too high.

But Harri... She was different. Or was she? That sharp tongue of hers, the one that had cut through the air with her biting words, made it clear that she wasn't someone to be underestimated. Her words weren't soft like her face. They were sharp, calculated, and they made him want to push back. She didn't cower in front of him, didn't bend to his will, and that made him want her even more. But that was the problem. Tommy had spent his life chasing after things he couldn't have, things that were bad for him. And Harri, with her sharp wit and beautiful, untamed spirit, was just another thing in a long line of temptations.

That part of him—the beast he kept hidden, the one he'd kept leashed for years—shifted inside him when he thought of her. There was an ache in his chest, an itch behind his ribs, like something inside him wanted to be let out. She had the ability to stir him, to make him feel something deeper than the emptiness he'd grown accustomed to. And it scared the hell out of him. He had fought his whole life to avoid that feeling. It was a feeling that had always been followed by pain, by loss, by regret.

The darkness in his mind twisted again, bringing with it memories he couldn't escape—his past, the blood on his hands, the things he had done in the name of survival. His mind kept circling, relentlessly, like a dog chasing its tail, the images flashing behind his eyelids like broken glass. Every bad decision he had made, every betrayal he had suffered, was tied to the same chain.

But Harri? Harri made him feel like he could break free of that chain. She made him feel alive again, and that terrified him.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him, stubborn and unyielding. His chest tightened, the familiar weight of his internal struggles pulling at him again. He wanted to scream, to release the pressure building up inside him, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure if he was angry at himself or at her, or at the world for forcing him to face things he wasn't ready to confront.

There was something about Harri that made him feel raw, exposed, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff with no way back. She made him want to reach out, to pull her close, to let her in, but at the same time, he feared that letting her into his world would only destroy what little was left of him. The beast inside him—he could feel it clawing, trying to break free. The only way to stop it was to keep control, to keep everyone at a distance, to bury those feelings deep down and pretend they didn't exist.

The "Tap! Tap! Tap!" echoed in his mind again, the sound of shovels hitting the walls. It was a sound that had been haunting him for years, a sound that always seemed to follow him when he was alone in the quiet of the night. The tapping was persistent, like a reminder that the past was never truly gone, that the ghosts of his decisions would always be there, waiting to remind him of his sins.

He opened his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling, but the plaster didn't offer him any answers. The beast inside him, the part that had been kept in check for so long, was stirring once more. And in the back of his mind, Harri's green eyes flickered, a flame burning in the distance. She had become an addiction, a problem he couldn't solve, and the fact that she could make him feel anything at all only made it worse.

Tommy ran a hand over his face, the frustration evident in his every movement. He couldn't keep living like this. He couldn't keep running from the things that made him feel alive. But every time he got close to someone, someone like Harri, the beast inside him screamed louder, wanting to tear down the walls he had built. And that scared him. It scared him more than he cared to admit.

His body tensed, every muscle screaming for rest, but his mind refused to let him sleep. The tapping continued, the ghosts of the past never far behind.

His hands clenched at his thighs as he remembered how she felt against his body. Soft curves and warm. She smelled of bergamot, spiced vanilla, and... Strangely enough like iron, the rustic smell of blood that accompanied death. It shouldn't have made him hard but here he was now - laying in his bed with a hardening cock. 

"Fuck," He hissed under his breath. 

He tried to ignore it. Will it to go away and when it didn't? "Fuck it," He said. 

Tommy undid his trousers.

Chapter Text

"I love the notion of "storm sisters" - soul friends who help us get through life's most raw and painful transitions."

- Jennifer Grant

⚡️

"Why are you reading about Healing magic?" Hermione asked when she stumbled into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Seeing Harri had entirely baffled her beyond measure to catch sight of her studying something other than runes. And the only reason Harri even got into runes was because she was paranoid as hell and skittish from the war. She was almost as had as Mad Eye Moody and that was a tall order to fill. 

If one looked closely enough, one could see all the carved-out runes on almost every wall, frame, door, and surface in the entire flat. Especially Tom and Teddy's cribs. Harri had decorated those oak wooden cribs from top to bottom in just about every single protection blood-infused rune she find. But to see Harri reading about healing charms? More than just the simple mending of broken bones and cuts... Well, Hermione was now wide awake and willing to take her prying into the next century. Harri was studying. It was a new thing for Hermione to see and she only saw it because of the aftermath of the war. 

"Shh," Harri snapped. 

Now that Hermione was looking, she wondered if Harri even slept last night. She looked exhausted. 

Wait...

"Sweet Hecate! Harriet Potter! Are those bruises!?!" Hermione was on her in an instant looking over the scabbed over cuts and bruises in disbelief. "What the bloody hell, Harri!" 

"Get off me!" Harri whined, pushing her away. 

"Did you get into a fight?" Hermione was worried now. "Are you in trouble? Do I need to get Ginny and go beat someone to a pulp? Because you know we will. We would do anything for you, Harri."

"I know you would," Harri said sincerely, her harden gaze softening. "Honestly, Mione. I'm fine."

"What happened?" Hermione gently lowered herself into a chair, reaching for Harri's hand and softly massaging it between her own. This was a comforting gesture that had become a familiar habit for her only in the recent months. 

Hermione clung onto Harri tightly after making the difficult decision to protect her parents... To erase herself from their existence. For a while, Harri was the only family she had, which is why she was willing to run away with her and raise Tom and Teddy together. They were a good as sisters, and Hermione couldn't bear the thought of losing her. That's why she held Harri's hand, and sometimes, they crawled into bed together, finding comfort in each other's embrace, especially when they slept. And they did this sometimes which was often. And often was pretty much always. 

Harri squeezed her hand knowing Hermione needed it more than she did at this moment. Hermione rarely asked for comfort like herself and it was mostly done through touch - Harri would never deny it to her after all the girl had ever done for her since they were kids. They had to grow up fast and they had to learn even faster about the brutal harshness of the world. If Hermione needed to hold her hand then by Merlin, Hermione could hold it for as long as she liked. 

"I couldn't sleep," Harri frowned. "You know what my head is like at night..."

"You could woke me," Hermione leaned in. "You could have woken me up and we could have talked about it. You know we have to talk about it, Harriet. You remember what Kingsley said. We can only achieve what feels like the impossible--"

"As long as we support each other," Harri nodded, leaning in as well. "Mione, I know. Truly, I do but sometimes you can't help me."

"I can at least stand beside you," Hermione's eyes began to grow watery. "Even if you can't talk about it at least come to me, Harri. You're my best friend and my sister..." 

Harri wiped Hermione's tears away that began to fall and moved into the seat beside her, pulling her into her arms. "I love you, Hermione."

"I love you too, Harriet."

Once Hermione calmed down, Harri smoothed her bushy hair away from her face and kissed her head. They leaned into each other for a bit more before Harri went back to her seat and Hermione went to put a kettle on and pour them each a cuppa. 

"What happened when you went for your walk," Hermione asked. "I promise; I won't cry again."

Harri laughed. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Fine, I promise, I'll try not to cry." 

So Harri told her about how she was just walking around lost in her head for a bit and how she went to the cut to just watch the water lap against the walls of the canal, just trying to clear her head from all the noise. When she was on her way back to the flat, a couple of drunks got the idea that she was a whore. 

Harri didn't have to say the words. 

"They... They didn't..." Hermione was barely able to even ask that unfinished question. Horror was written across her face. 

"No," Harri said quickly. "They just caught me off guard. They're-" she swallowed thickly. "One of them is floating face down in the cut right now. The others ran as soon as I stabbed their friend through the eye."

Hermione quickly wiped away her tears with the back of her hands. "Oh, Harri... I don't know what to say."

Harri just shrugged helplessly. "I'd rather not think about it, Mione if it's all the same to you."

"Of course."

What a shitty way to start their first Christmas with the boys, Harri thought. She wondered if she still had some of Weasly's Wheezes bruise paste in their medical trunk. If not, she knew she had the terror twins jack of all all-trades brain journal floating somewhere in her bag. Fred and George had thought themelves rather clever giving her a copy of it for her 16th birthday. They said since she was  a baby Marauder, it was the least they could do to repay her father and dogfather for all they done for them through the map. 

"Hey, did you remind Ginny to pick up the cake?" Harri asked. 

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed with wide eyes. "I knew I had forgotten something!" 

"Oh for crying out loud, Mione!"

⚡

The Shelby family home was alive with the kind of energy that only Christmas could bring, though there was always an undercurrent of tension among the family. The dining room of the Shelby house on Watery Lane was lit by a flickering candles, casting long shadows across the richly decorated table. The smell of roasted meats, honeyed carrots, brussels sprouts, and the heavy richness of gravy filled the air. The fireplace crackled, sending little sparks up the chimney, as the family sat down to their Christmas Eve feast. The Shelby family was seated around the table, their usual banter softened by the festive atmosphere. There was a subdued sense of holiday cheer, though the undercurrent of tension and history is never far.

Esme, who had been unusually quiet all evening, sat at the end of the table, her sharp eyes flicking between the family members. She was sitting tensely nursing a glass of wine, keeping her gaze trained on her and John's kids at the end of the table next to Finn. Katie and Jonah wouldn't stop kicking each other under the table and it was pissing her off that they wouldn't behave.

Beside her, Arthur Shelby, his face flushed from several glasses of whiskey, was clearly in a good mood—though that could mean trouble at any moment. Finn, eager and always looking for something to do, was shifting in his seat, staring wide-eyed at his older brothers as though trying to figure out the secret language of the Shelby family. His brothers never told him anything so he was trying to glean something out of them though he was hopeless in his endeavors. 

Polly with her calculating eyes kept scanning the room, ensuring all went smoothly. But it was Tommy Shelby, sitting at the head of the table, who seemed to command the room with his mere presence. His steel-blue eyes, piercing and calm, took in everything—the chatter, the clinking of glasses, the laughter—and he remained as cold and composed as ever.

John Shelby was seated just to Tommy's left and was attempting to get through the evening with as little fuss as possible. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. He was in the process of awkwardly trying to shove some mashed potatoes when Tommy's voice sliced through the warmth of the room like a knife, sudden and sharp. "John."

There was a calculating expression on his face. 

John froze. His hand, holding his fork halfway to his mouth, stopped in midair. He glanced at Tommy, his brow furrowing.

"Aye?" John replied, trying to sound casual, though he felt the tightening of his chest.

Tommy's eyes never wavered as he calmly set down his glass, his fingers tapping on the table. The silence that followed made every Shelby in the room pause, their attention now fully on the second eldest Shelby son.

"You owe me ten quid." Tommy's voice was firm, unwavering, as if he were speaking to a business partner, not his brother.

John's face twisted up in confusion, he leaned back in his chair already embarrassed. He began shaking his head "Ten quid?" he echoed, his hand lowering the fork back to the table. "What the bloody hell you on about, Tommy?"

The rest of the family held their breath for a moment. Polly glanced at Arthur, who was already stifling a grin, but still trying to keep his composure. Esme, stiffened. Finn noticed the sudden shift in the air, blinked and looked from one brother to the next, trying to make sense of it all. Even the younger kids, blinked owlishly at their father and uncle. 

Tommy's face remained unreadable. "Ginerva Granger," he said, leaning forward slightly. The words hung in the air like an accusation.

John blinked a couple of times, realization dawning on him. His face flushed a deep shade of red, and he quickly glanced down at his plate as though the food might provide an escape from the conversation. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Why did Tommy have to do this in front of his wife for? Esme would have his balls. 

He was no stranger to making reckless bets. It had been one of his defining characteristics for years. He liked the rush of proving himself, the thrill of winning, but this time, the odds had not been in his favor. It had all started weeks ago when he was in The Garrison with Tommy. He foolishly made a bet with Tommy thinking that he could easily charm his way into the bed of Ginny Granger, the new local woman who had already been well established as liking to play hard to get... with all but Isiah Jesus, that is. 

Tommy, with his usual calm demeanor, had accepted his bet. And Tommy, being Tommy, had wagered the sum of ten pounds. John, figuring it would be an easy win, considering his usual charm and confidence... Had shook on it. 

But what John had failed to account for, however, was his peculiar brand of misfortune when it came to women who were not easily swayed. Ginny Granger had proven to be more elusive than he had anticipated, and after several failed attempts to woo her, John found himself in the position of owing Tommy the ten quid—money that he certainly did not want to part with, and especially not at Christmas dinner in front of everyone.

Tommy gave him a dead-eyed stare, leaning forward just a little. "You failed, John,” He paused for effect "The bet was, if you got her into your bed by Christmas Eve - you wouldn't owe me a penny. But since you couldn't manage that, you now owe me ten quid."

The table went silent, John opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say a word - Esme, sitting at the end of the table, slammed her hand on the surface. Her unusually calm demeanor was gone, (many had wondered when she would eventually show her Lee Blood.) replaced by her fiery edge. Her eyes flashed with a mixture of disappointment and annoyance, and her lips pressed together tightly, as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her sharp voice cut through the tension in the room. "John Shelby, you're a bloody embarrassment!" She snapped.

John's pride was wounded enough without having Esme add to it.

Before anyone could react further, with a swift, almost reflexive strong motion, Esme's hand shot out and she smacked John across the back of the head with such force that the room seemed to still in disbelief. The crack of her hand meeting his skull was sharp. 

John, startled, jerked forward in his chair, nearly knocking over his drink. His hand flew to the back of his head, rubbing the spot where the smack had landed. His face flushed an even deeper shade of red, and he shot an incredulous look at his wife, barely able to comprehend what had just happened.

"Bloody 'ell, Esme," John grumbled, his voice low and defensive. "You fookin' madwoman!"

Arthur couldn't contain himself. His raucous laughter erupted from deep within him, shaking his entire frame. The sight of his younger brother being publicly chastised by his wife was enough to set him off. His voice rang out, his laughter infectious. "Ha! Did you see that, Polly? John-Boy got himself a Christmas present, eh? A fookin' smack from Dear Esme!"

Polly had been trying to hold back her amusement for John's sake, finally let herself laugh too, a sharp, melodic sound. "I didn't think I'd see the day... but it's good to know there's still some justice in this world, Arthur."

John, still rubbing the back of his head, looked around the table, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. He shot Arthur a look, but Arthur was too caught up in his own mirth to take much notice.

"Is this fookin' necessary?" John asked, his voice tight. "I'm not some bloody child. I don't need the lot of you mocking me at the dinner table. And in front of my fookin' kids!"

But his protest did little to dampen the humor in the room. In fact, it only seemed to make Arthur laugh harder.

"Come on, John," Arthur said between fits of laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. "You lost the bet! You were supposed to charm Ginny Granger into bed, and you couldn't even manage that. Ten quid, John-Boy. You owe Tommy!"

Esme, still shaking her head in disbelief, leaned back in her chair and took a long sip from her glass. She glanced at Tommy, who was, as always, calm and collected.

"You couldn't even manage that, John?" Esme said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought you were the great Shelby brother with all the charm and swagger. Turns out you've got nothing but a big mouth and no bloody game."

John winced at her words, but there was nothing he could say to defend himself. The evidence was right there in front of everyone: he had failed, and now he had to pay the price. And he would bet... Poor choice of words that he would spending the next week sleeping on the sofa. 

Finn, looking utterly confused, leans over to Polly, whispering softly. "What's this about Ginny Granger? What's the bet?"

Polly leaned over to Finn. She smiled mischievously, her eyes twinkling. "John thought he could win Ginny Granger's heart—or rather, her bed—but she wasn't as easy a target as he thought. He came up short. Now he owes Tommy ten quid for failing to seal the deal."

Finn looked bewildered. "Ten quid for that? What kind of bet was it?"

Polly, enjoying the teasing, leaned back and crossed her arms. "The usual kind of bet around here, Finn. One brother wagers the other for something ridiculous, and the loser pays up. In this case, John was supposed to use his charm to bed Ginny, but she clearly wasn't impressed."

Arthur, still wiping tears from his eyes, added, "I told him it wouldn't work the first time she told 'im to piss off. But did he listen? No. And now he's got to cough up ten quid. Christmas dinner's the perfect time for it, eh?"

Esme shot a glare at Arthur, but she couldn't suppress the small smirk. Her husband was an idiot.

John groaned, sinking lower into his chair as the rest of the family continued to laugh at him. 

Tommy, ever the picture of composure, takes a slow sip from his glass, his expression unreadable. He had been watching the whole spectacle unfold with a detached amusement. "Next time, John, think before you make a bet you can't win," he said, his voice carrying a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore.

John shot him a resentful look but didn't dare argue. Tommy was right—he had lost, and now he would have to face the consequences.

Arthur was still chuckling "John-boy, you should've known better. It's not the first time you've lost a bet, but this one... this one takes the cake."

John, thoroughly humiliated but trying to keep his dignity intact, just shakes his head and grumbles under his breath."Next time, I'll make the bloody bets, and you lot won't get a penny off me."

The family's chatter resumes, though with an extra dose of amusement, especially directed at John, who's now trying to regain some semblance of composure but it was useless. His kids wouldnt shut up about it. 

The family resumed eating, but the tension lingers, as it always does. At least until someone knocked on the door and Polly answered it. She returned to the kitchen with a worried frown. 

"Jackson Orwell was found face down in the cut an hour ago by the Coppers," She said. "He was on our side of the river."

Tommy, Arthur and John immediately stood up. "Fucking Jocks," John muttered. "They're going to blame us for this."

"We'll find out what happened and make peace," Tommy said. "Arthur, John go ask around if anyone saw anything while I talk go and speak to Moss."

⚡

A pop startled Harri when Kreacher appeared before her. His greying skin was somewhat murky looking from how angry he appeared to be. She worried for the old crotchety house-elf, she really did. He was so... ancient. He'd been born in the early 1900's, a child house-elf when Sirius Black II had inherited Grimmauld from Phineas, his father. So poor Kreacher was as old as dirt and him getting upset as he had been quite frequently lately was a cause for Harri's as well as the other's for his well-being. 

"Kreacher won't! Won't! WON'T! Take it any longers, great and wonderfully dreadful Mistress Harri!" 

"Kreacher, my dude," Harri pinched her nose. This was a reoccurring thing as of late. Kreacher absolutely loathed being in this flat. He would go on the longest tirade any of them heard (which was fucking impressive given how long he would go on with Sirius about how absolutely bloody disappointing he was and that he was a nasty stain upon his bloodline) about how this Flat was not a proper home for such Witches of capability and that it was most definitely not a home fit for his beloved and wonderfully wicked Mistress and her dreadfully powerful son and her half-breed. (they were still working on making him less of a racist) They deserved to be in a grand home like Grimmuald or the manor befitting of the likes of Black or even Potter Manor. Kreacher had been distraught when she told them they were leaving and would not ever be in those ancestral homes again. 

When she had said; they, she had meant Hermione and herself. Harri had no intention of bringing Kreacher with her, she assumed he might have liked to be free and live out the rest of his days in Grimmauld with Sirius's mother's portrait but he had vehemently cursed and grouched up a storm that he wanted no such thing. 

It truly touched her that Kreacher wanted to remain with her forever. Despite being old, he insisted he take care of her as he once did for Respectable and Kind Master Regulus. He had been strangely delighted when he learned she was to go back in time and retrieve Tom Riddle while he was a baby to raise. Which was, honest to Merlin, shocking. You would think, Kreacher would have some serious PTSD about Tom Riddle who had poisoned him and left him to die in that cave with all those inferi. And who was responsible for Regulus' death as well. 

But that was most certainly not the case. Kreacher was a strange House-elf. He was obsessed with power and torture. That last bit bothered Hermione to no end. 

Honestly, Harri wasn't surprised given the fact he was a servant to the Black Family all his life. The Blacks were notorious for torture. Kreacher had insisted on bringing the old torture chains with him before they left to come back into the past. He polishes those chains every single night in hopes that his "Incredibly formidable and commanding Mistress Harriet" would let him use them on anyone who inconveniences her. 

Who was Harriet to tell him that she would never do such a thing? It made him happy and she thought the poor sod deserved to have some happiness even if it came with just wishful thinking. 

Kreacher loved Tom to pieces. Probably because he knew how fucking terrifying Tom had the potential to be. 

"We've talked about this," Harri leveled Kreacher with the look. The one that he gets strangely excited about in hopes he can punish himself. Bloody Masochist. 

"Oh, Mistress!" Kreacher wailed. "WE CAN'TS live here! We can't! Muggle filth everywhere! House isn't a house at all... It is unbefitting for my precious Mistress and her demonic son - my future Dark Lord Master! Perfect for the Half-breed but not Little Dark Lord!" 

Merlin's Beard... Harri just felt terrible for him. And she was also miffed he kept calling Teddy a half-breed but progress didn't happen over night. 

"We have nowhere else to go, Sorry."

"Kreacher will have to punish himself!" He sighed dramatically but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he said it. "Have to smash my fingers with a burning hot cast iron, I will!" 

"Ah... My unnervingly little house-elf," She proceeded in patting his head. "Do remember I had already forbidden you from hurting yourself."

Kreacher let an agonized cry. Throwing himself on the ground before her feet begging to let him punish himself. 

Maybe something was wrong with Harriet but she long since had gotten used to his tantrums and no longer felt uncomfortable or pity for him when he got like this. She just blinked, pursed her lips, and turned away.

"Get off the floor, Kreacher! Or I'll throw a shirt at you."

He gasped. "NO! Mistress not clothes! NEVER CLOTHES!"

"Off. The. Floor. Now." 

Kreacher's eyes welled up with great crocodile tears as he struggled to push himself off the ground. He had been pounding his hands and feet into the floor while lying on his front, resembling a tantruming toddler. Harri knelt down and firmly grasped his chin, just as Narcissa had instructed her to do when she had reluctantly sought advice on how to handle him. He was not like Dobby at all. Some days, she hates herself for wishing it was Dobby instead of Kreacher who was with her. She tells herself it's only because of how wretched the old elf was and how stuck in his ways was hard for her to deal with most days. 

She really didn't want to be mean to him.

"Cease this behavior at once!" She spat, hissing through her teeth. "Or I will bash your head between the oven door and the stove!"

"Oh, mistress is so dreadful!" He was practically swooning. 

"I won't do it today," She narrowed her eyes at him.

He was deflating. 

"Don't fucking piss me off, you miserable little bastard!"

"Kreacher loves his new Mistress!" He grinned at her, his tears dried up. "He would never wish to "piss her off!" never!"

"Go finish dinner!"

"Kreacher lives to serve the Most Noble and Ancient house of Black!" He bowed, pressing his long nose into the floor before popping away. 

Harri, feeling overwhelmed, hunched over and buried her face in her palms, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She flinched violently when she felt someone put a hand on her, and looked up to find it was Hermione. She was so lost in thought that she hadn't even heard her come in.

"I heard him throwing his little... Daily occurrence," She winced at the end. "Maybe we can medicate him? To help his need for... Pain?"

Harri laughed in disbelief. "Maybe we should get him some opium! Seems like everyone is bloody smoking Heroin around here."

"Harri!" Hermione scolded. "I meant something clean. He's your responsibility to take care of!"

"Do you not see the crap I have to put up with!" Harri stood up and was now glaring at her. "He's a pain in my arse! I love the little guy! I swear to Circe, I do but fucking hell, Hermione... He wants me to string him up by his toes or something. Now that I think about it. Maybe he isn't the best choice to have around... Around Tom."

It didn't need to be said on why. 

Hermione winced. "Well... Maybe you're right but you still have to take care of him. I'm all for creature rights but I long since realized Kreacher is never going to be like Dobby. He is rather... Old." 

"I'm taking a bath," Harri said quickly. "Watch the boys for me?"

"Want me to give them a bath?"

"If you want, fine by me. I just need a moment to myself, thanks."

"Anytime, Harri." Hermione cooed at them both. "Come to Aunty Mione, Thomas," she said as she scoop up Tom and then Teddy in the other arm. "Let's get you cleaned up pretty boys!"

Thomas and Teddy giggled when she blew kisses on their faces.

Chapter Text

"The fact my heart cannot hate you. Makes me hate my heart."

- Nushree

⚡

Tommy inhaled the last bit of the fag he was smoking before flicking it towards the ground and clearing his throat. His leather gloves squelched when he tightened his fists against his coat then fixed his cap for the third time since he arrived at Mrs. Temble's bookshop. It was three days after Christmas, he'd been sitting on the information for those three days, and the fucking Flettos were already getting the jitters to make someone pay for taking out one of their men. Orwell was trouble, Tommy had him run off from the Blinder's territory too many times over the last year just to keep the peace because it really was only a matter of time before he was done in. 

Someone had gotten to Orwell before Tommy did and when Arthur told him the group Orwell had been tussling around with at the Marquis had been spotted harassing a young woman with red hair down by the cut. Nobody saw her face, preferring to stay out of it. So nobody went investigating. 

Then Moss told him how Mr. Figgs from Flat 4b on Causeway had seen the woman stab Orwell seven times while his friends ran off. He said the woman felt like the devil - a blackness to her that made him fall to his knees and pray. The old man said it was Young Miss Potter. He would know that face with the haunting eyes for the rest of his life. 

Moss, after being paid decently, closed the case and handed the file off to Tommy for him to take care of. 

Here he was, standing by his bloody car smoking up his pack of cigarettes at midnight debating how he should talk to Harriett. Truthfully, he was hard just thinking about her stabbing Orwell when he'd been wanting to do it himself for two fucking years. She was stubborn, bitchy and she had guts but he knew she was soft too. He had felt it when she ran into him Christmas Eve. He held her in his arms and knew she was soft and squishy in the right places... Though she could be a little more squishy in some places too over time with the right meals. 

He scowled at himself for thinking about her in this manner again. It was bad enough he gave himself a fucking wank like an eleven-year-old boy who just discovered his penis can make him feel good. He hadn't wanked to a girl since he was nineteen. It was embarrassing. 

Tommy opened his pack to smoke his fifth cigarette. Placing the fag between his lips he grabbed his matches and went to strike it when a lamp turned on in one of the windows. Tommy put the cigarette back in his pack when the window opened and he watched Ginny Granger shimmy out of the small slot with her arse sticking out for all to see from under her skirts covered by a pair of knickers he'd never seen before on a woman, heels clutched tightly in one fist and her coat slung over the shoulder. 

He looked away because he was a decent enough fucker not to pry on a woman. Ginny landed in the snow, stuffed her feet down in her heels, and pulled on her coat before disappearing. She never noticed him. If she did, Tommy had no doubt, she would have cursed him twice over with that foul mouth of hers. 

"She thinks she's being sneaky," He heard Hermione laugh from the open window. 

"Let her feel like a teen," Harriett said. "You could do with a little sneaking out yourself too, you know."

"Harriett!"

"What? I'm just saying, you can be a prude."

"Ha! Me?! You're a virgin too!"

"At least I don't turn red when Ginny talks about--"

"Ah! Good night, thank you!"

Tommy found himself smiling a little at their banter and how Harriett shouted a cheeky little "Nighty night, Mrs. Grundy!"

He sighed to himself. There was really no point in waiting. He had to talk to Harriett. Tommy knocked on the shop door and waited. 

The gas lamp came on in the stairwell and then the light of the shop before he heard the lock turn and the door open.

Tommy didn't expect to have the barrel of a gun pointed between his eyes though. He did expect her to put it down when she saw it was him... But she didn't. 

"Mr. Shelby," She greeted him succinctly. 

"Ms. Potter," He eyed her gun, and raised a brow but she still didn't move it. "Are you going to shoot me?"

"I just might," She said, giving nothing away. She was like a frickin' statue. It sort of unnerved him. 

Then he snatched the gun from her hand and grabbed her by the neck when she gasped - shoved her inside and shut the door with a swipe of his boot. He had her back pinned to his chest with the barrel of her own gun resting against her temple all in the duration of three seconds. 

He almost jolted when she started laughing. It sent shivers down his spine. And not the good kind. Her laugh was a bit deranged like she had done lost the plot. 

It was all she needed to have him on his backside, her legs resting on either side of his hips showing off her creamy skin from where her nightgown had ridden up her to the top part of her thighs. Her elbow was pressed against his neck, her gun slid across the floor, his hat knocked off and her fingers knotted in his hair. Couldn't blame a man for getting turned in in the position he was in. By the looks in Harriett's eyes, she was affected though she did lift her arse off his hardened prick. 

Her eyes were glowing and the gas lamps flickered. 

Tommy saw something glimmer across her face for a split moment and he - he could have sworn there was something on her face but it had been the trick of the light because her face was unblemished and perfectly normal when he blinked again. 

"Do you want to fuck me, Ms. Potter?" He asked. 

She stared him down, still pressing on his neck and gripping his hair. Her luminous acid-green eyes began darkening from her blown pupils. 

He perhaps should have been prepared to have his lights knocked out of him. Because when he woke up again, he was lying on his front doorstep with a note pinned to his chest. 

'Goodnight, Tommy.

And if you dream of me... I like it rough.'

Tommy was frozen for a moment, staring at the note pinned to his chest, feeling the cool night air sting his skin. He could still feel the pressure of her body against his, the way her presence had both unsettled and excited him. The familiar taste of her laughter echoed in his mind, and a sense of confusion settled over him. What had just happened? Had it been real? No, it was real... He had her note in his hand. 

He slowly sat up, rubbing his aching head where the hit had left him bruised, and looked around. The street was quiet, save for the distant bark of a stray dog and a hiss of cat. The smell of smoke and wet coal hung in the air, and the dim glow of gas lamps cast long shadows across the pavement. His cap had fallen somewhere along the way, but he wasn't concerned about that now. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything that had just gone on.

Tommy's thoughts drifted back to Harriett's laughter—the unsettling sound that had sent a cold chill through him. He'd always known there was something about her, something dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. But this... this had been different. The way she had moved, the way she had controlled the situation with such ease as if she had done it a thousand times before. It was a side of her he'd never seen, and... He oddly enough wanted to experience it again.

Maybe there was something wrong with him?

As he stood up and dusted himself off, Tommy glanced at the note again. The words were written in neat, flowing handwriting, and yet there was a sense of deliberate nonchalance about it. "Goodnight, Tommy. And if you dream of me... I like it rough." The phrase lingered in his mind, like an open invitation, and... God fucking damn it! He was hard again. 

Harriett Potter wasn't like the other women he'd known. There was something far more complex, far more dangerous about her, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to find out just how deep that danger ran. Her eerily green eyes could make the most hardened of men shit their pants, and the taste of death that clung in the air around her would make smart men think twice about venturing near her... And Tommy knew his soft spot for women would eventually get him killed at some point. He hated to admit to himself that even though he despised Harriett Potter, he was also insanely attracted to her and it wasn't her beautiful looks that made him so. It was the raw power he knew she held in that elegant arrogant way she looked at him. 

The next day, Tommy didn't waste any time. He made his way back to Mrs. Temble's bookshop, determined to have a conversation with her. He had questions—too many questions—but he knew better than to go in blind. He needed her to answer his own questions first as well. He needed to understand what the hell had just happened. More importantly, he needed to know if it was just a game to her or if she was truly capable of turning his world upside down. He'd worked much too hard to let this little viperess come slithering into his world and fucking it all up with her succubus smile and devilish eyes. 

As he approached the shop, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The street was unusually quiet, and the windows of the bookshop were shrouded in darkness. Tommy frowned, wondering if Mrs. Temble had closed early or if Hermione had decided to take the day off. He knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the empty street, but there was no answer. He knocked again, louder this time, but still no response.

Growing impatient, Tommy turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping inside cautiously. The air was thick with the scent of old books and dust, and the faint creaking of the wooden floorboards beneath his boots. The shop was empty, with no sign of Mrs. Temble, Hermione, or Harriett.

"Harriett?" he called out, his voice low and tentative. There was no reply, but the feeling of being watched lingered in the air, like a presence just beyond the edge of his awareness. He moved further into the shop, scanning the rows of bookshelves and the scattered piles of paper, but there was nothing. Just silence.

His mind raced as he turned to leave, but then he noticed something. A faint glow came from the back of the shop, where the small staircase led up to the private quarters. The glow was soft, and it drew him in like a moth to a flame. Without thinking, he started toward the stairs, his boots silent against the floor.

The closer he got, the more the light intensified, and soon he could make out the sound of movement from above. A low, rhythmic noise that seemed almost... soothing. Tommy's heart skipped a beat as he reached the top of the stairs and paused outside the door to the girl's living quarters.

He knew why he wasn't supposed to go in. It was the girl's private space and they didn't invite him in. It would be very rude and highly improper and for some unexplainable reason, he also felt as if he was standing on the precipice of something he couldn't even begin to explain let alone rationalize. 

It was maddening! It's the fucking feeling he got with Harriett every single time and that confusion always led to him getting worked up. Either he was angry or had a raging prick. He inhaled deeply, he was not some foolish teenage boy. He can't be wanking off to a woman just because he had power issues. 

He hesitated for just a moment longer before pushing the door open. The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat.

Harriett was standing by the window, her back to him, bathed in the soft light of a lamp. Her long, dark red hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall though it was more like rapids due to a mess of curls, and her silhouette seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. She wasn't wearing the same nightgown from the night before; instead, she was dressed in something more fitting for a woman of mystery—a black dress that clung to her curves and seemed to absorb the light around her.

Her eyes were closed, and she stood perfectly still, her hands resting at her sides. Tommy couldn't explain it, but she looked like she was waiting for something—or someone.

"Harriett?" Tommy's voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to make her stir.

She slowly turned to face him, and the moment their eyes locked, Tommy felt a wave of heat rush through his body. There was something different about her now, something that sent a shiver down his spine. Her eyes, once a clear shade of green, were now darker, almost black, and her lips curled into a knowing smile.

"You're here," she said softly, her voice carrying an edge that made Tommy's heart race. "I wasn't sure if you'd show up."

Tommy swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. "I don't know what the hell you're playing at, Harriett. Last night—"

"Last night was me letting you know I don't like surprises," she interrupted, her gaze never leaving his. "Then you went and surprised me twice. I thought you deserved a little one of your own."

Tommy's chest tightened, and he took a step forward, his voice barely audible. "What do you want from me?"

Harriett's smile widened, and she took a step closer to him, her movements slow and deliberate. "I want you to stop pretending. I want you to stop running from what's right in front of you." She paused, her breath hitching slightly. "You've wanted this, Tommy. You want me. So here I am. What on earth do you plan to do to me, mm?"

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, Tommy couldn't think straight. He was caught in the pull of her presence, unable to break free. She was right. He had wanted her—wanted her in ways he couldn't explain. But there was something more to it than just desire. Something so much darker, something far more dangerous and he would be a fool to entertain it. 

Tommy took a step back, shaking his head. "You're crazy."

Harriett laughed, the sound like music to his ears. "Maybe I am. But that's the beauty of it, isn't it? We're both a little mad. And that's what makes this so damn interesting."

Before Tommy could respond, Harriett stepped forward and closed the distance between them. She placed a hand on his chest, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through his body.

"You'll come to understand," she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. "You'll come to understand exactly what I'm capable of."

Tommy froze, the weight of her words sinking in. He wasn't sure if he was ready for whatever she had in store, but --- all his thoughts went out the window when he suddenly felt pain erupt inside his head like he'd been bludgeoned with a metal rod. 

He felt her hands guide him to the sofa where she helped ease him down but all he could see were her eyes and he couldn't look away even if he wanted to. 

As quickly as it came, it was gone. 

"I killed Orwell because he wanted to rape me," She said lowly. Tommy blinked, the pain in his skull made him feel like was on the verge of vomiting any second now. "There's your fucking answer. If you come asking questions again, I guarantee you; you won't like what I do next. I don't owe you anything."

"I put your murder under a rug," He spat between his teeth. Trying to swallow the pain. What the fuck did she do to him? 

Her cold laugh was high and all the sweetest. There was no hinted brogue to it. "If I wanted to make him disappear, I could have done so. No. I left him to make a statement. By all means, Mr. Shelby. Turn me in. Have me arrested. But you and I both know the outcome. Surely you can feel it."

He glared at her. An urge to get his gun and just shoot her suddenly flared up inside him. But... He couldn't. 

She tsked. Like she was disappointed in him. "You deranged little man," She said. Her green eyes began leaching away the blackness. "Enjoy your self-pleasuring, Mr. Shelby. Now get the fuck out. My sisters will be home soon with my boys."

Tommy left the shop with a warm neck and reddened ears. He hated that woman. And yet, he knew he was royally fucked. Because she was right. 

He wanted her.

Chapter Text

"The tragedy of life is not death,

but what we let die inside us while we live.”

- Norman Cousins 

⚡️

"You look beautiful," Isiah told Ginny the moment he set eyes on her. Ginny grinned, the apples of her cheeks dusted pink. 

"You look dashing," She replied.

"I think I'm going to hurl," Harri muttered. 

Luna giggled. 

For a first date or whatever it was between Ginny and Isiah, the two sure did know how to make people feel uncomfortable. Harri didn't want to witness their eye fucking anymore than she needed to which was -  none at all. She regretted already the fact she told Ginny to invite the boy. Suppose it was better than her trying to weddle her way into Esme's bed. Her being a married woman and all wasn't ideal and being gay was quite illegal at the moment. People were tossed in prison and got the noose for lying with the same sex. 

Good on Ginny for going back to plan A in hitting Isiah rather than plan B and tapping a married woman's arse. The girls worried about how close she was getting with Esme, they didn't need another broken-hearted Ginny over a girl. She tended to break harder when it came to girls than she ever did with boys. 

"You got your Arthur pins?" Harri asked, needing a distraction from the way the two whores in front of them were three seconds from stuffing their hands into each other's trousers. 

Luna reached down in her crochet flower bag and pulled out one of the pins she had made for the night. It was a pair of boxing gloves with "ARTHUR FUCKING SHELBY!" written on it. Luna had been giggling all week while she made them. Harri thought it was sweet. 

She took the pin and pinned it to the lapel of the light jacket she wore under her heavy coat. Luna already had hers pinned right over her heart and twice the size of the others. She even had a sign in her hand and a few racket noise callers that when shaken up really fast sounded like "Yeah!" just the way Arthur said it. 

Once more, it was really cute and Harri didn't have the heart to tell her that perhaps the noise makers were too much. How could they explain them? Either way, Luna was super excited and Harri was happy for her. Arthur and her had a beautiful heartfelt friendship and to see Luna accepted by someone other than them made Harri feel like she didn't have to worry so much about her little sister. Not with Arthur Mad Dog Shelby barking at her heels and guarding her fiercely. 

Try for someone to hurt her and she was sure they'd be dead before they could say sorry. Arthur was rather... Intense about Luna but that was a good thing in Harri's book. It meant Luna was safe. 

They arrived at the building that would be holding the boxing event. It was easy to get inside and not too difficult to find their seats given how they were in the front row with excellent viewing. Luna was looking around airly and Harriet slumped in her chair beside her, picking at her nails while Ginny without a care of acting like a lady for once made out with Isiah next to her. She had to suppress a few snorts from how people kept shooting them disgusted looks. It was, after all, improper to display such actions in public, and not to mention neither Ginny nor Isiah was dating - courting. 

Harriett already knew, Ginny wasn't coming home with them tonight. 

⚡️

Luna liked Arthur more than she should have. She was aware that Hermione found it improper at times and the only reason she hadn't spoken about it was because Harriett had spoken nothing but well of Arthur even if he was quick to anger or that he was old enough to be their father. 

It seemed to her, that perhaps she might be experiencing a crush. Luna had never had a crush before, but if this was what it felt like, then this was definitely it. Whenever he surprised her with sweets or flowers or took her out to do whatever she wanted without hesitation, it made her feel warm and fuzzy inside; like snuggling with a teddy bear. His kindness towards her stood out, as not many people had been so genuinely kind to her before.

Luna glanced over at Ginny, who was being funny in the way she always was with her raucous laughter filling the air, making the men around them visibly uncomfortable as she screamed dirty words. She then looked to Isiah who was holding Ginny's hand. Luna had a thoughtful look across her face... contemplating whether Arthur would do the same if she were to ask it of him. 

She quickly looked back into the ring when the bell dinged again to start another round. She met Arthur's gaze and she smiled up at him which made him grin back at her --

"FUCK HIM UP ARTHUR! TURN HIM INTO YOUR WEE LITTLE BITCH!" 

Luna giggled, shooting a look at Harri who was on her chair and roaring about and throwing her arms about.

"I GOT A TENNER ON YOU, SHELBY!"

Luna laughed again when a man tried to tell Harri she was being an uncloth hussie only to get a hand to the face and shove him back only for the man to end up tripping over his own chair. 

"Hush, Peasant! Mummy's trying to enjoy the show!" Harri snarled. "Stuff your hand down his gullet, Shelby!"

"Gouge his eye out!" Ginny screamed. 

Luna thought it was one of the best nights she ever had. And when Arthur won - because, of course, he did, he jumped the rope and lifted her up in the air in a big burly hug and she didn't mind the sweat or the blood. She kissed his cheek and watched in fascination as his ears turned red. 

⚡️

It was New Year's Eve, Tom's first birthday. Harri had put a little party together for him and invited Esme and John over with their brood of children. She was just trying to be a good mum even if Tom wouldn't remember any of it. 

Inviting John and Esme meant Luna wanted Arthur there and in turn, they invited Polly for she had done a lot for them. Curly and Uncle Charlie because they loved the boy and soon it was a Shelby affair that pretty much came with a few Peaky Blinders, like Isiah and his father. Ada came with Freddie and their son Karl - Freddie wouldn't stop thanking Harri for saving his life until she threatened to do him in if he didn't fuck off elsewhere and keep his mouth shut. She has never been very good with gratitude or people really.

"You could make milk curdle with that sneer," Tommy said as he leaned against the back of the chair that had a direct line of view of her. 

Harri laughed in a way that said the words "piss off" without actually saying them. He was teasing her. Thomas bloody Shelby was teasing her. He lit a cigarette and held it out to her which she took without thinking. He smiled at her. It was soft, well hidden, and only she seemed to know what he was doing despite him giving her the same look that he always gave her when he was thinking about something. 

"Can I help you?" She asked when he didn't leave the kitchen. She sat the knife down that she was using to cut up meats and cheese. 

"We need to talk, Harriett," He lit another cigarette for himself this time. "We've put it off long enough."

"No," Harri said before he could say anymore. 

Tommy leveled her a look that she gritted her teeth and her knuckles went white from how hard she gripped her apron to keep from taking her knife and flinging it at him to get a clue.

He was smirking now. Like a cat got the cream type of smirk and for some bloody reason it grated her nerves worse than Snape ever did and it made her want to put her fist between his fucking teeth. 

He clearly noticed. 

"Go on then," He taunted, eyebrows raised. "I can tell you want to hit me. I'll give you a pass at it then we'll talk."

Is he fucking mad? He is! He's done lost the plot! 

"Fuck off!" Harri snapped. Her voice raised. "Just go away, Thomas Shelby before I stick my bloody knife in your pretty eyes!"

"You think my eyes are pretty?"

Harri made a discontent noise in the back of her throat. "That's what you got from that? Of course, your eyes are pretty! I'm not that fucking blind, you tosser!"

She pointedly ignored the burn in her ears when realized what she said. Ah fuck it all to hell. 

"Go on! I bloody well mean it, Tommy. I don't want to talk about anything with you. I got nothing to say."

Tommy was moving towards her, a determined look on his face as he stubbed out his cigarette and plucked the one from between her fingers to do the same to hers. She just merely blinked and the next thing she knew... 

Tommy Shelby was kissing her. 

Harri froze, her mind blanked instantly when he wrapped his arms around her waist and nudged her head back to deepen the kiss. Her body betrayed her by throwing her arms around his shoulders and kissing him back - their tongues dancing in a battle. Harri whimpered against his mouth and he grabbed at her thighs, lifting her onto the counter and practically grinding his hard-on against her core. 

Harri startled, reared back, and smacked him across the face as she covered her mouth in shock. Tommy scoffed, a grin spreading across his lips as he touched his smarting cheek. 

"Get out!" She hissed. "GET OUT!"

Tommy smiled despite being hit. He had the audacity to wink at her. 

Harri noticed the audience they gathered when she looked behind him. Hermione had her jaw dropped in shock with Tom in her arms, he was glaring at Thomas violently. Teddy was none this wiser in Luna's arms. She hesitantly looked at the Shelby's and turned red in embarrassment. 

She jumped down and bolted from the room, tears stinging her eyes. 

"Nice, Thomas," Polly hissed. "Really fucking nice."

Tommy just smiled, lit a cigarette, and chuckled. "She'll cave," He said.

"Oi!" Ginny snarled. "You fuck with our sister. We'll break your hands!"

"Ginny!" Hermione scolded. "Now is not the time for that! Go check on, Harri!"

Ginny grumbled but done as she was told. Hermione whirled on Tommy. "Don't you dare mess her about, Thomas Shelby! She's had it hard enough all her life. She doesn't need you to break her heart!" 

With that, she stormed away. Tom glared so icily it was a wonder, Tommy didn't drop dead. 

The Shelby's and the others saw them out. Luna smiled at Tommy and said "Everything will work out just fine, Thomas. Goodnight!" and shut the door behind them. 

"What were you thinking?!" Polly snapped. 

"I thought she looked kissable while angry," Tommy admitted. "Not that it's any of your business, Aunt Pol."

"The hell it isn't!"

"Don't do this, Tommy," Ada begged. 

"Ada!" Freddie scolded her. "Stay out of it."

Ada pouted, holding Karl close as she turned away, to storm towards their vehicle. Freddie murmured goodnight and followed after his wife. 

"I think she liked it," Esme laughed. 

"Aye," John snorted. "Even if she did wack you good for it."

Tommy just inhaled his cigarette and smiled. 

Uncle Charlie and Aunt Pol kept glaring at him. 

⚡️

It was supposed to be a girl's night. Four nights after Tom's birthday - apparently, Harri had been sulking enough and Ginny wanted to get "loose" whereas Hermione just wanted to give Harri "a bit of fun" Luna was just there to be her emotional support buddy if she needed a hug or a hand to hold - Luna was great like that. 

Harri was feeling quite reluctant about going out, but here she was much to her dismay, draped in a revealing skimpy flapper dress adorned with black beads and tassels, courtesy of Ginny. Her vibrant red hair was styled into an elegant yet playful bun by Hermione, and she was convinced to wear a rich shade of red lipstick by Luna who said the color would look lovely on her. In Harri's own eyes, she felt like she resembled a harlot, albeit an attractive one.

Aunt Petunia would have an aneurysm. 

Harri loved it. 

They left Kreacher to watch Tom and Teddy and Harri had to be practically dragged out of the house by Ginny and Hermione. She was embarrassed to show her face around after the fight she had with Tommy. A fight that everyone heard and then heard when he kissed her and then she smacked him for it. 

He did things to her head that she did not understand but one thing she understood was she was not a woman to let a man have his way with her. 

Suppose Noah and his mates thought just because Harri and Tommy had a row it made them fair game. No woman was ever fair game to a man.

"Come on, you need a real man," One of them said to Ginny. "Little Isiah can't give you a real piping the way you deserve."

"Yeah, you're a man - a lazy one... Boring... Cowardly and a woman-fearing man. Chew on that, Bitch," Ginny spat, hands laid on the tabletop as she stood up and fringed a lunge at them. They backed up as quickly as they came but Noah didn't seem to be deterred as he had his eyes set on Harri. 

"Come on, have a drink with us," He urged for the third time, and only this time he had the misplaced idea that he could grab her neck and lean into her and sniff her. 

Harri shoved him away. 

"Come on, Luv. You can even have a nibble..." He laughed. "You look like you need a good fucking. You have a face pinched like a prude."

"Oh," Ginny muttered, smiling. 

"Here we go," Hermione resigned but quickly followed Harri and Ginny out of their booth. Luna giggled. 

"Want to say that again?" Harri asked Noah. He and his buddies smiled as if they found her amusing. He grabbed his crotch with one hand.

"You can suck these--" Noah never finished that sentence because Harri grabbed a glass mug out of some random man's hands and shattered it over his head.

The Marquis had completely died now in shock. Then Noah's friends lept at Harri who was prepared. She reared her fist back and hit him across the cheekbone. Ginny lunged, tackling across a table and sending them sprawling onto the floor. Hermione jumped back and kicked another between the legs. 

"WATCH OUT!" Luna called. 

Harri's head slammed Noah on the nose. She felt it shatter under the force. 

"Ah!" 

"Like it huh!?" Ginny roared. Harri spotted her digging a spoon between the man's teeth who she had pinned under her. "Like gagging, baby!"

"Don't touch me!" Hermione yelped and whacked her book across the man's face knocking him out cold. Harri grabbed Noah's hair and banged his head off the side of the table over and over again until there was blood coating her hands and he lay motionless on the floor. She yanked his hat off the floor, baring the razor under the flat cap. Her eyes narrowed in on him. 

Noah was immediately kicked over and Harri leaned across him, digging the razor into his cheeks until he resembled the Joker. She was unfeeling towards all the blood and the pain she caused or how it coated her skin and embedded under her nails. 

Ginny had made her pet gag so violently on his spoon that he wretched all over himself.

Noah moaned. His eyes opened in silvers. 

"Tell your buddies we are not the kind of women to be fucked with!" Harri spat on him. "I've known men worse than you or any other cunt in this city could ever dream of. I'm not scared of no Peaky bitch." 

Harri looked up at all the people around them. She lifted her bloody chin and smiled cruelly at all of them, her eyes glowing eerily in the dim scone lights. "Try and rat us out, I'll know and you'll be like Mr. Fanny deprived here."

Hermione picked her book up, blushing as she grabbed at Harri's sleeve and hissed at Ginny "Come on!" 

Luna skipped after them. 

They were almost home when Hermione whipped around to confront Harri. "What was that!" Hermione snarled, eyes wide in fright. "Harri, you cut him up!"

Harri ground her teeth. "I don't know..."

"You don't know?" Hermione repeated dumbly. 

"It felt... It felt so good..." Harri said quietly, her actions catching up to her.

Before Hermione could speak about it, sirens went off and flashlights were shown in their eyes. 

Ginny and Luna ran and Harri shoved Hermione to get away who didn't fight when Ginny came back to get her. Harri was thrown to the ground, face smashed into the pavement. 

Hands roamed her body. 

"Oi!" She snapped. "Watch your hands you wanker!"

"As if I'd touch a harlot," The Copper snorted. 

"Miss Potter," Harri was heaved up roughly, and her hair yanked back so she could look at the man speaking. He had a fucking bowler hat and a stupid wolf headed cane. 

"Whose askin', limpy?" She sniffed. 

He backhanded her for her cheek. She laughed and spat the blood that filled her mouth across his face - her teeth painted red when she grinned at him in a good impersonation of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

His face curled in disgust. Pulling a crisp and clean white handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe the blood off his face. 

"You're under arrest for assault and resisting arrest."

"Resisting?" Harri laughed. "I haven't--"

She never got the chance to finish that sentence when he struck his wolf-headed cane across her temple and knocked her out. Harri slumped in the officer's arms.

Chapter Text

"Hate is the consequence of fear; we fear something before we hate it; a child who fears noises becomes a man who hates noise."

- Cyril Connolly

⚡️

When Harriett's sisters showed up at their home in the middle of the night with Teddy and a crying Tom who was fighting his sleep on Hermione's hip, Tommy didn't know what the bloody hell happened but he knew he wanted them to stop yelling over the top of one another before it does his bloody head in. And it most definitely wasn't a good thing either for a clearly distressed child. Tommy lit a cigarette, blue gaze casting over the boy, he grew agitated just from the sight alone and immediately stuffed it out before he got a good inhale of it. He stormed up to Hermione to take the little lad from her arms.

"Hey-!"

"Hush, Granger," He pushed her forehead gently away and cradled Tom. "Why are you crying, eh, Thomas?" He asked the boy.

"Mama..." His lips wobbled. "Want Mama... No Mama..."

"Someone here care to explain what's going on?" Tommy asked, his voice harder than usual. It had to do with Harriett he wanted to get to the bottom of it. She most likely wouldn't like the fact the girls had her boys out this late.

And as soon as the question left him, the girls began talking over the top of each other again.

"SHUT UP!" Polly shouted cutting silence into the air. Tommy rocked side to side until Tom cuddled against him and dipped his little hands under Tommy's shirt to rub at his collarbones. "Now! Take a bloody seat at the table, all of you! Hermione and ONLY Hermione... Tell us what happened."

Hermione sniffled but she got it out.

Tommy was fucking livid.

The recent explosion at the Garrison three nights ago had covered the floor with remnants of Paddy confetti, and the memory of having to kill a man the following night and the next day of having to bury the poor bastard out in the fields before he and his brothers could head into the City of London and make their move weighed heavily on his mind.

Tommy had enough to think about, to much to worry about and now the fucking IRA was not something he wanted to fucking deal with. The looming threat of them destroying his plans just made him infuriated. What the fuck was wrong with the Irish? They were given peace and they started a bloody war over it.

He knew the inspector was back in town, Moss told him as much. He already had the IRA up his arse and making him "the chosen one" for their fucking schemes and now this bastard comes back into Small Heath to mess with his girl? As if Grace wasn't enough, he dragged Harriett into this fucking mess. A mess that she didn't belong in. Tommy stood up.

"Pol, the girls will stay here tonight. Finn, go wake John, tell him to have Esme bring the kids and have a slumber party. I'm sure the Katie and Mary will like it and Tom and Teddy here can have a mate to play with while we get their mum out of jail."

"Excuse me--" Ginny tried to talk but Polly's sharp look silenced her.

"Arthur," Tommy went over to Luna to give her Tom but the little boy clung to him.

"No!" Tom yelled. "I go mama! I GO MAMA! I go MAMA!"

"Arthur," Tommy sighed, "you come with me."

"Come to me, Thomas," Luna cooed. "Tommy will bring back Mummy, all right?"

"No, no!" Tom whimpered. "I go Mama. I go Mama..."

Tommy huffed, smiling though it was more from exasperation. "I get it, kid," Tommy said. "You can come. You can come see Mummy."

"You will not!" Hermione gasped. "Harriett will lose her head if you take Tom to Jail of all places!"

"Then Luna can come too," Tommy clicked his tongue.

Hermione covered her eyes and waved him on. "Now that's better but I prefer if it was me."

"Fine," Tommy bit. "Hermione comes. Luna stays."

"But I want to come," Luna said.

"Let Luna come, Tom," Arthur interjected.

Tommy let out a huff, his teeth bared as he hissed between them. "Hermione stays then. There. Enough of that."

Hermione wisely didn't say another word about it. She could see he was close to yelling at all of them. Luna took Athurs' offered hand and trailed after him.

Tommy shot Finn a look. "Behave yourself, Finn. Eh? No peeping on Hermione in the bathroom."

Hermione flushed red.

Finn spluttered. "T-Tommy! It was one time!"

"What?" Hermione squeaked. Ginny snorted.

"Poor bastard," She laughed with Polly. "Sorry chap! Mione doesn't let anyone get in her hole."

"GINNY!" Hermione cried. "Don't speak to him like that! He's a little boy!"

"Oi!" Finn squawked. "I'll be 14 soon!"

"Behave," Tommy clapped him around the head, fondly and snatched Tom's blanket off the settee on his way out. He wrapped the boy up in it and held him to his chest.

"I'll drive," Arthur said once it became clear Tom wasn't going to let Tommy go anytime soon.

⚡️

"I saw something interesting a few weeks back, Miss Potter," Campbell smiled at her in a way a wolf would bare its teeth at a poor little piggy.

"Yeah?" Harriet returned that smile as if she didn't have a care in the world as she leaned back in her chair, her handcuffs rattling from where she was chained to the armrests. "Do tell me what interesting thing you saw because I do a lot of interesting things, Sir."

"It looked to me a bit like magic," He said.

Harriett laughed. Though inside she was wondering what it was he thought he saw. Then she narrowed her eyes when she thought about his last name. He didn't see shit. He was a fucking squib! The jealous fucker must have felt the magic rolling off her and her sisters. She wasn't stupid. She knew the police had taken to tailing them lately due to their interactions with the Shelby family.

Campbell... She was sure this was rhe fucker Polly and Esme told them about. He's up to something. He had an unhealthy obbesssion with Tommy and if her being tailed was anything to go by in the last two weeks then he was going to try and use her. Ha! As if Tommy would fall for it. They hated each other!

"Are you ill? Has someone done your head in? Had a little too much sniff of the ol' Tokyo have you, or was it opium? Or maybe you stuff your wrinkly old cock into many whores and got the clapp?"

He backhanded her.

Harriett licked her bleeding lip, staining her teeth red. She smiled demurely at him.

"Keep your filthy mouth shut!" He snarled. "You will do as I fucking say, girl! Mr. Shelby likes his whores complainant so you shall do so with me!"

"Mr. Shelby?" Harriett questioned, her eyes glowing a bit more eerily than normal. Campbell ended up looking away, and she smirked. "You'll have to give me a name. You see... There are several Shelbys, one is married and one too young... If you're speaking of Arthur, then I am terribly sorry to inform you that, that Mr. Shelby doesn't currently have a whore - so you must mean, Thomas Shelby."

Campbell gritted his teeth. "Do you like playing games, Miss Potter?"

Harriett's chair squeaked under her as she shifted back and crossed her legs. "Oh, I love them."

"Then you'll like this," Campbell grabbed her jaw and squeezed rather hard, making her teeth ache. "Whores like sucking cock so how about you suck mine."

⚡️

"Almost there," Tommy told Tom.

"Mama," He sniffled. "Want Mama."

"Cheer up, Tom-boy," Arthur said. "Goin' as fast as I can."

⚡️

Harriett shoved her feet back, knocking her chair over as she tried to get away from the bastard exposing himself to her. She screamed when he put his hands on her again, pulling her up.

She'd fought fucking Death Eaters. Came face to face with Voldemort way too many times than she should have. She couldn't believe that for the first time in over a year since that horrible night at Hogwarts when her first home was destroyed and friends and loved ones were lost... she missed old snake face.

All because of some sleazy dirtbag who had it out for Tommy.

"Get off me!" Harriett screamed.

"Be a good girl!"

Before he could make her touch him something dark and festering inside Harri came racing out of her like a harsh gust of wind from a bad storm. Campbell was blasted off his feet and slammed into the wall. The handcuffs melted off her like water, hitting the ground and dissolving as if acid had been poured onto them.

Campbell opened his mouth and the black mist swirling around Harriett took shape, a horrid creature with a horrific face dove at him. He made no sound as it dove inside his opened mouth and his eyes went black.

Harriett collapsed.

When she woke again, it was to feel as if something quite important was missing from her. She felt sort of hollow inside as if a bit of her magic was fractured. Her skin itched and her scar throbbed. It hadn't throbbed that way in a while... Not since she killed Voldemort.

She needed Tom in her arms. She needed her boys.

"Looks bad, love," One of the men stated.

They put her in a cell alongside four men five times her size. Men who looked the type to think doing something bad to women made them feel powerful. When he put his hand on her knee, Harriett found herself blacking out.

It took four guards to wrangle her off the broken body of the man she left bloody and smashed up. The other, the only other one out of the four was weeping, holding his torn-off ear in his bloody hands while the other failed to staunch the blood coming from where his ear once was. Harriet's breath was ragged and her eyes went honey-yellow in color as red leached around her irises. She was snarling something under her breath that made no sense to the guards or the inmates

They threw her into another cell, separate from the others.

Harri took a seat on a bench, slumped down, elbows against her knees, and pressed her cheek against a balled-up fist. She didn't know what she was going to do. Her wand sat on the concealed harness on her thigh, only her magic had kept the muggles from getting ahold of it. She couldn't pull it out. If she did, she couldn't do anything with it. It would be too much of a hassle wiping everyone's memories now that she was there and had been seen. Not to mention any witnesses prior to getting arrested. All she had now was to think and think she did.

Her memories were on Voldemort just so she didn't have to think about Tommy. Her mind always wanted to think about Thomas Shelby as of late.

Just like Voldemort, nobody wanted to listen to her about Tommy though she hadn't much wanted to discuss the Gangster that stole a kiss from her and the sentiment of her heart too.

She had trouble giving any part of herself away. Ever since Voldemort set his sight on her. He was a right monstrous bastard who had destroyed or was set to destroy everything Harriett cared about. Not to mention he had been a gaint of a man with a snake face.

Not that anyone ever listened to her description of him.

Her whole life she had suffered because of him. Her parents were dead because of him. She was placed with the horrible Dursley's because of him. Then her first year at Hogwarts has been shit because of him. Then the whole Chambers... Because of him and even if the third year wasn't because of him, it was once more during the fourth year due to Peter - that rat bastard.

Harri had thought her fourth year was difficult, she hadn't realized the fifth would be that much worse. She now had the scars to prove it, "I must not tell lies" on the back of her right hand, courtesy of one giant pink toad of a woman with a bizarre and unnerving love of kittens; Dolores Umbridge.

Ron might have run off for the first third of the fourth year like a complete arse while she was forced to resurrect the Dark Lord and then be treated like a pig for slaughter, but at least no one had made her go carving "Potter Stinks" into her own skin while Voldemort invaded her brain. Then the truth about how her Dad was a total cunt who liked to bully people courtesy of her shit occlumency lessons with that greasy git Snape.

Fifth year though... somehow, had impossibly gotten worse than all of that combined. All that led up to her and her friends right into the dumbest trap she should have seen coming... Sirius had been murdered right beside her.

And then her life had gotten ten thousand times worse.

A few months later, Dumbledore had been training her to hunt Horcruxes, and after almost murdering Malfoy because she stupidly used unknown spells like a complete and utter moron... It all led up to watching Dumbledore die - to go on the fucking run - being captured - listening to Hermione be mutilated by Bellatrix, her friends and family dying for her ans then finally learning she, herself, must die because she was a Horcrux too.

She was murdered by Voldemort himself and then was resurrected and all in which she accidentally somehow became the mother fucking Master of Death.

Now she was in the past with her friends raising Teddy and a baby Dark Lord but all she can think about was Thomas fucking Shelby and how much she wanted to kiss him again.

When did these feelings come about?

They hardly spoke enough for to fall for him yet with what little they did... she wanted to curl into him and hide away from the world because for once in her whole life she felt safe. She felt seen.

⚡️

Tommy handed Tom off with difficulty to Luna and ran up the steps without looking like he was running at all. He opened the door and went up to the first desk that had a copper behind it. It was Moss.

"Mr. Shelby," Moss greeted.

"You brought someone in, a woman. I want her out," Tommy demanded.

A the look Moss sent him, Tommy knew that he knew who he was talking about. The whole Orwell deal pointed to that fact but clearly he had to say for the show of it.

"Harriett Potter," He gritted.

Moss swallowed. "Ah... Yes, that was an old acquaintance of ours doing."

"I know," Tommy licked the back of his teeth. "I'm here to pay her bail."

"Follow me," Moss stood, and Tommy went after him to the back where the holding cells were.

Moss seemed a bit tense as he told Tommy about how she was more like a rabid animal than a lady. His comment to get her a rabies shot almost made Tommy his gun out and put a bullet in the fuckers head. But he unfortunately neither clap back with a snide comment of his nor shot him.

He was left to see Harriett on his own. In a solitary cell, far away from prying eyes.

"Come to spring me out, Tommy?" Harri asked.

Tommy smiled, a sort of chuckle left him as took her in. She sat on the bench as if it were her throne, despite her bruised and busted knuckles or the tear in her lip and blackening eye. She had her torn skirts lifted over her knees, shredded stockings on display, and was barefooted. There were no signs of her heels.

"Don't you look comfortable," He noted.

She shrugged with an eyebrow raised. "They had to separate me from the others."

"I know, Moss said as much," he pulled a cigarette out and lit it, breathing in the smoke - fucking finally - and letting it out the side of his mouth. "He also said you beat the shite out of Rufus and Dougal, the regular lawbreakers."

Harri lifted her chin.

He huffed a laugh. "What am I going to do with you, Harriett?"

"Get me the fuck out of here," She stood up, skirts falling back down as she sauntered over to him wrapped her dainty injured hands around the bars. She looked up at him through those slanted beautiful green eyes... "Where are my sons?" She askes.

"Tom's with Arthur and Luna in the car and Teddy's with Pol and Hermione." He took another drag for himself before he held the fag through the bars. Harriett leaned forward and wrapped her plumpy little mouth around it, breathing it in and leaving a stain of red lipstick when she pulled away. Tommy leaned down, hand going between the bars and grabbing her jaw possessively.

"I have a price," He glared at her.

She blew the smoke in his face. "Take it and stuff it up your arse."

"Just a kiss," He smirked.

"Fuck off," Harriett snapped.

"Go on, Love. Kiss me," He leaned further down his face almost pressed to the iron. "You and I both know you enjoyed it before."

Harri ground her teeth, sucking in a harsh breath. She stood up on her toes and went to kiss him, he pulled away quickly.

"You and I, eh? Fire and Ice, Sweetheart."

She stepped away from the bars, her lips pressed tight.

"I'll pay the guards then," and he left her. She stood there seething.

"Bastard!" She yelled after him.

He laughed.

"Ugh! I fuckin' hate you, Thomas Shelby!"

"No, you don't!"

In the next ten minutes a guard came to let Harri out. She shuffled through the door to the lobby of the station, still barefooted and this time with her heels in hand. She had her coat over her arm, a deep scowl on her face as she hissed at the copper who tried to grab at her arm. "Don't bloody touch me!"

"Harriett, Darlin'!" Arthur called, grinning widely at her.

"Ello, Arthur," She greeted not quite looking at him. "Where's my son?"

"Luna has him outside. Tommy's getting the car started."

She nodded her head and went for the door. She caught sight of Inspector Campbell through the glass windows on the upper floor, immediately stopped walking, and looked up at him. Harriett raised both of her middle fingers up at him.

"Eat fuckin' dick!" She shouted.

Campbell scowled in disgust and Arthur shouted in laughter. "Come on, girl! Before they arrest ya again!"

Harriett let him pull her out of the precinct.

"She sits up here," Tommy said when Arthur opened the door to let her in. Harriett slid in and Arthur got in the back next to Luna, taking Tom from her as he squealed happily at the sight of his mama.

Harri took him into her arms, sitting him down on her lap and holding him close.

She gasped when Tommy yanked her closer to him, her arm now snuggly slotted against his side. He smirked but said nothing and Harriet didn't pull away.

Chapter Text

"The season is changing the dust is settling, and I'm running out of excuses to not love again."

- JH Hard

⚡️

Tommy pulled the car up to Watery Lane. Arthur and Luna were quick to get out and go inside leaving Harri alone with Tommy while Tom slept soundly against her chest. Tommy's fingers tapped against the stirring wheel and his arm was still firmly around her waist.

"Thank you," Harri said awkwardly. Tommy turned his head to look down at her. "For paying my bail."

"They shouldn't have arrested you," He said. There was a hardness around his eyes, more than the emotionless unfeeling look he tended to carry.

Harri fidgeted. She found saying his name difficult and that alone made her angry - it caused the air in the car to tighten, enough to make Tommy suck a harsh breath in that immediately made her take a quick calming breath and erect her barriers in her mind. She didn't want to suffocate him with her magic. Occluding was easier now without Voldemort inside her head.

"What happened in there?" Tommy asked her once he got his breathing in control again. He had no idea what that was but he knew it came from her. She did something. The gypsy superstitions reared it head at him, screaming that he needed to be wary of her! But he didn't listen to it, instead his hand on her hip rubbed soothing circles.

Harri wanted to pull away but she allowed herself to be comforted by him - just this once. She staunchly ignored the fact that she told herself that already once before.

"I don't want to talk about it," and Harri meant that. She didn't want to talk about it but she did need to tell him something. Spitting his name out and tasting of acid - "Campbell assumed I am your whore..." Harri met Tommy's eyes. "Am I, Thomas? Am I your whore?"

Tommy's jaw clenched and then he smiled when he realized she was trying to make light of the situation.

"You're no whore, Harriett," He caressed her jaw with his free hand. "And I would never ask you to be anything less than what you are."

"What am I? What is it that you want me to be?" She asked before she could reel in her curiosity. Because that was the thing with Tommy Shelby... Harri found him very interesting and the way he treated her now was something that not even Charlie Weasley did.

It hurt when she thought about Charlie and how he broke her heart. She promised herself she wouldn't love again because every time she allowed herself to, she lost them and she didn't think she could lose another person a third time around. Tommy was something special... She'd grungily admitted that when she had nothing but time in the cell to come to terms with that. He was too special to lose. Harri would rather keep him at arm's length than lose him forever.

Cedric was dead.

Charlie blamed her for Fred's death and told her they couldn't continue their little affair - he didn't want to see her again.

Two very unhappy endings and she was only 18. Love fucking sucked. Happy endings hated her too so she doubted that was even in her cards. Harri didn't want something bad to happen to Tommy.

"Something special," Tommy said softly. "My something special and I'd bring hell down to keep you here."

And suddenly, those words melted Harri. All she ever wanted was someone to fight for her, not because of her. She wanted someone to see her, hear her, and accept her for who she is and not the idea of what she was.

She was no longer The Girl Who Lived. She was just Harri. And just Harri was apparently what Tommy wanted.

Even if he didn't know about magic, about her being a witch... She knew he suspected it. She had been inside his head twice already to know his emotions for her were genuine. It wasn't love by any means. But it had the potential to be. They detested each other fiercely but there was something there between them that was undeniably addicting. They drew each other in and thoughts of him consumed her. It was magnetic... All-consuming passion.

And it terrified her.

"I think I'm falling for you, Thomas Shelby," She said quietly - there was almost no sound at all.

"I'll catch you when you do," He kissed her temple. She leaned into it, eyes closed and savoring the warmth of him. "You'll sleep here tonight. You'll have me room and I'll take you home in the morning, Red."

Harri nodded and Tommy got out, he fixed his cap after shutting the door and came around the car, opening up her door and taking sleepy Tom from her arms to help her down. He put his arm around her waist again as if it belonged there and looked at him with her boy in his arms and the feeling of his around her... Harri had the thought that perhaps she belonged to Tommy too.

⚡️

As Harri lay in bed, Teddy and Tom sleeping soundly between her and the wall. with Padfoot snuggly lying between Tom's arms, she cried. Her hand against her nose and mouth with her face stuffed against her pillow to muffle the sounds of her tears and choking sobs, she had gone through so much in her life but she had never been sexually assaulted until now.

Chester Campbell had exposed himself to her. Even if he didn't make her do anything, he still tried and that was enough to have her choking back her cries. She knew Hermione would understand, she had been assaulted by the poachers before they took her, Hermione, and Ron to Malfoy Manor. The one who had her friend's scarf had grabbed at Hermione in a way and touched her over her clothes that still woke her in the night gasping for breath and tears in her eyes. Harri just never knew what kind of mental torment that was for her best friend until now.

The door cracked open, and Hermione's tip of her wand emitted a soft glow casting shadows upon the room as she shut the door again and tiptoed through Tommy's room. Harri opened the cover enough to let her climb into the small bed with her.

"Let it out," Hermione said.

Harri curled against her and cried. No longer trying to keep silent. Hermione put her fingers through her hair carded them down and started over again, her voice breaking out into a little tune as she sang.

"Days in the sun
When my life has barely began
Not until my whole life is done
Will I ever leave you

Will I tremble again
To my dear one's gorgeous refrain?

Will you now forever remain
Out of reach of my arms?

All those days in the sun
What I'd give to relive just one
Undo what's done
And bring back the light

Oh, I could sing
Of the pain these dark days bring
The spell we're under
Still it's the wonder of us, I sing of tonight

How in the midst of all this sorrow
Can so much hope and love endure?
I was innocent and certain
Now I'm wiser but unsure

I can't go back into my childhood one that my father made secure.
I can feel a change in me.
I'm stronger now, but still not free

Days in the sun will return
We must believe as others do
That days in the sun
Will come shining through..."

Harri laughed, it was pathetic sounding but it made Hermione smile. "Was that Disney's, Beauty and the Beast?"

"Yes," Hermione giggled.

"I feel like you and Luna are hinting at something," Harri narrowed her eyes playfully, wiping her nose with the handkerchief Mione gave her when she was done singing.

"Whatever do you mean?" She teased back.

"Am I the Beauty then or the Beast?"

"Harri!" Hermione tsked. "Of course, you're Belle and Tommy's the beast!"

Harri snorted. Hermione just grinned.

"Thank you," Harri whispered.

"I'll always be here," Hermione said and she meant it very much.

By morning, Harri woke up before Hermione or the boys did. She slowly rose from the bed where she was the sandwich filling and tried not to disturb the slices of bread. Her face scrunched up when she heard Tom let out a little snuffle. She waited until he relaxed again and eased herself onto the floor with minimal creaking.

When she opened the door and stepped out, she almost yelped when she tripped over and landed on the lump lying in front of the door.

"Fuck!" The lump hissed.

Harri's eyes widened in surprise. "Thomas?"

"Mornin', Love," Tommy blinked his red-rimmed eyes at her. The blue was even more brilliant against the dark circles of his eyes from where he hadn't slept well. "Fancy this, eh? You on top of me."

Harri scrambled off him, glaring when he chuckled. He reached over and grabbed the knob of his door and closed it gently while her face flamed in embarrassment.

"What were you doing sleeping against the door?" she demanded.

"It is my room," He raised a brow.

"You didn't have to let us use it," she snapped back at him. His face softened.

"Yes, I did," He said, his voice almost a whisper as he took her in. Even if he hadn't heard her last night, he would have been able to tell that she had cried herself asleep. "You don't need to hide it from me, Harriett. Never from me."

She felt exposed. Instantly, she didn't like it. So she stood up and practically shot down the stairs to get away from him. He followed after her because of course he bloody did. He grabbed her wrist before she could get too far away from him. She winced.

Tommy's eyes narrowed and he shoved the jumper he lent her back, his eyes growing cold as he took in the thick dark bruises that formed around her dainty wrist.

"Who?" he demanded.

"It's nothing..." She tried to pull away but he held onto her elbow, his other hand going to the back of her neck and holding her firmly in place.

"Who fuckin' touched you, eh!"

She couldn't look away from how the blue of his eyes went icy. It was mesmerizing when he was angry. It made her stomach flutter to life and pulse down between her thighs. She swallowed suddenly from being unexpectedly turned on by Tommy's ire. That was the last thing she expected to happen. Her ears flushed red and it crept all the way down her chest from the pure embarrassment she felt.

He let go of her elbow and grabbed her chin between gentle fingers. "Who touched me girl?" He asked her quietly. "Give me the name, Love."

Oh bloody hell, Harriett thought. His girl? Mentally she fucking hated that but her stomach and fanny said otherwise. She would have swooned if she were some other girl.

"I'm not your fuckin' girl," Harri shoved him away. Crossing her arms and petulantly looking away from him. She could have cursed him for how he chuckled under his breath and said something that sounded awfully like "Yes you are even if you don't want to admit it."

He sobered up though and put an arm around her waist. She froze for a moment, heart hammering in her chest when he pressed his chest up against her back. His mouth was against the shell of her ear.

"Tell me his name."

When she didn't speak, her heart skipped several beats due to him grabbing her curls in a tight fist that wasn't harsh at all making her head tilt back and exposing her neck. He looked down at her. And boom... Her knickers were soaked.

She hated Tommy Shelby so fucking much.

"Campbell," She said, the name leaving her mouth so silently she wondered if he even heard it. Tommy smiled, kissed her forehead, and released her.

"Good girl."

She had to grab onto the wall due to trembling knees. He reached into his pocket, grabbed his case, and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and then held that same cigarette between her lips, a silent order. She leaned just a little to take a puff of it.

"Good girl," He said again.

The praise hit her in a way she never expected it to. She'd never been praised for anything in her whole bloody life that didn't affect everyone else around her. She'd never been praised for something so small as telling the truth and fuck me... She thought. She would love it if Tommy praised her again.

He brought the cigarette back to his lips, toucher her hair with his other hand, just smoothing it against her wild mane and his eyes doing that intense thing that she would never admit how much she loved when he looked at her like that.

Harri stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. His arm fell around her shoulders and held her to him as she pressed her cheek to his chest. She didn't know why she hugged him but she could quietly admit to herself that she could get used to the feeling of being safe in his arms.

A throat cleared making Harri step away, trying to not seem as if she was doing anything with Tommy but Polly's amused smile dashed any hope. Tommy took the last inhale of his burning cigarette.

"You're dropping your ash on the floor, Thomas," Polly said. Eyes casting a quick glance at where the ash had fallen on the rug. Harri subtly flicked a finger at it and it disappeared before she even realized what she was doing. Polly looked at her sharply.

"Huh," She smiled all too knowingly. Harri looked away quickly, cursing herself for being so stupid.

She had to keep herself from wincing when a blaring thought came flying at her from the woman. "Witches! I knew it! The gyspy in me knows too well."

Harri hated hiding from the people she cared about. And she cared about the Shelbys more than she ought to but they had done so much for her family that she had no choice but to care for them. Polly especially. The woman may have had Narcissa's face but she was a woman with a heart of gold and the mother she always wanted and dreamed of having.

Mrs. Weasley was great and all but she was faulty in many ways. One in which was how she fell short with the Twins and she never cared for Harri until she was pressed against her to save face. She knew about the Dursely's abuse and not once did she fight Dumbledore about it. No, she just fought Sirius and acted like she was her mother when Sirius did nothing but fight for her with what he could.

Polly fought for all of them. She did not have anything to gain from it but she did it anyway.

"Sit down," Polly ordered. "I'll make you some ham and eggs. I have some canned yams I can mash for Teddy. Is Tom eating ham now or is it still just scrambled eggs?"

Getting Tom to eat anything for breakfast but eggs since she started giving them to him was like pulling teeth with your bare hands. He was bloody stubborn and Kreacher didn't help matters about broadening his palette. Catering to his every wish and desire like the spoiled little shite he was. Merlin did she love him though. Tom was her baby - her heart and soul and she knew damn well she would cave to his every wish too when he looked at her with those wide blue eyes and dimpled smile.

"Just eggs," She said.

Tommy pulled her chair out and when she sat down he pushed her in, his fingers falling into her hair as he moved to sit beside her. Polly watched it, her eyes glinting.

"Beans and toast," Tommy said as he fumbled with another cigarette to light up. Harri took it from his mouth before he could light it and gave him a stern look.

"Fucking eat, yeah?" She said. "You're not the bloody French."

"Are you offering?" He asked rather bluntly.

Harri's face flamed a burning red when she realized what he meant.

Polly laughed. "Oh, Jesus... Thomas! Don't tease the girl."

Tommy just winked at Harri and took her hand to kiss her knuckles before standing up and moving around the kitchen to make a pot of tea and make that beans and toast thing he was talking about. He made a plate for himself and took a small slice of warm bread, slathering the coveted golden butter on it and adding a bit of beans to it, and plopping it down between them.

She watched him leave the room, curiously tilting back on the hind legs of the chair she was in watching as he went upstairs.

"Where's he going?" she asked Polly.

The woman just hummed. "To fetch your picky boy."

"Wot?"

Harri went to stand up but Polly was beside her and pushing her back down into the chair. "Eat your eggs, Harriett," She demanded as she sat the plate down. "Let Thomas worry about Tom for once. It'd do him some good - the unfeeling bastard."

"He is not unfeeling," Harri snapped.

"Defensive are we?" Polly grinned sharply.

Harri grabbed her fork and stuffed a piece of fried egg in her mouth. She did not even mean to be. It just slipped out.

Was she the only one who saw Tommy? Like he saw her?

Tommy returned with Tom and Hermione trailing behind him with Teddy and her hair worse than Harri's for once.

"Mama!" Tom shouted. "Mama! Omi wake me! I no like!"

"He shoved me off the bed," Hermione grumbled as she fell into the chair across from them.

"You wouldn't get up," Tommy stated as he sat down and promptly pulled the little plate close to him where he was making Tom sit on his lap. "Now listen here, lad," Tommy said. "You're going to eat this breakfast that I made you while your mummy enjoys her eggs and tea, eh? Stop fussing and be a good lad about it. You can't be a powerful if you go about life scared of trying new things."

Harri felt a surge of emotion as she watched Tommy feeding her baby as her ovaries were screaming like a cat in heat. Despite her insistence otherwise, she couldn't help but gaze at him with adoring eyes.

Hermione and Polly giggled quietly.

Tom ate every single bite and refused to leave Tommy's lap even while Tommy ate his plate. Harri poured him a cuppa and all she could think about was how right it felt again.

She hoped he was being honest about catching her.

Chapter Text

It had been four days since Tommy had seen Harri. He had just gotten a telegram from Alfred Solomons, to break bread. It had come the moment he, Arthur, and John returned home from that shite-fest in London when they went to Darby Sabini's club. It was what he wanted, the prospect of collaborating with Alfie seemed like the best course of action.

He couldn't afford to get too distracted. Between The Peaky Blinders London business and the mess with Campbell, Tommy didn't have time to indudgle whatever it was growing between him and Harriett. He flicked his dead cigarette out his window, tapping the stirring wheel as he watched Campbell at one of the market stalls buying bread.

He was going to kill the fucker. He just had to wait for the right moment.

⚡

"He finally coughed up and said it was gas and electrical," Ginny was annoyed. She'd been annoyed since her job went up in literal flames. Took her two weeks to finally get Tommy to tell her what happened to The Garrison. She had almost convinced herself that he blew his own pub up just so he could fire her until he told her he had plans to get it running again in a few months —she was to man the bar when it did.

Harri was just glad Ginny had been late for work. They all were. Because if Ginny had been at work on time, they wouldn't be sitting here right now doing their weekly talk-it-out group session that Hermione insisted on. They would be having a burial in the cemetery—not in Small Heath. They would have taken Ginny to the Burrow and buried her beneath the apple trees there regardless of how the current Weasleys might have felt about it.

"It doesn't make sense!" Hermione was the only one who didn't want to drop it. Which was quite odd because normally as history goes, Harri tended to be the one who couldn't drop things and let them go. But she was right, it didn't make sense at all.

Green confetti had covered The Garrison floor. Shining bright green confetti. Also a large cueing factor was Tommy had been over in the Irish quarters after the pub had been blown up. But Harri had been banned from going and asking about it from any of the Shelbys. She wouldn't have asked, she would have dug through their heads and plucked the information right out. She did not even feel guilty about the fact that it was very revealing and a major breach of privacy. Ginny could have died—any possible guilt was lost. Also, she had already ruffled through Tommy's head.

"Have any of you spoken to Polly about her visiting that hack in the patch?" Hermione asked. "I meant to do it myself but I got distracted by Uncle Charlie."

"She went to the patch?" Harri was rightly confused.

The patch was full of con artists, Gypsies who gave their kin bad names. John had warned them about them. Ginny was the one who found out from Esme—an odd friendship blossoming between the two that had way too many intense looks shared between one another than what could be considered friendly in the past few days. It was truly only a matter of time before Ginny coerced Esme into her bed, never mind her dating Isiah.

"Don't you ever listen?" Hermione laughed in disbelief when Harri shook her head. "Of course you don't. Polly went to the patch—"

Hermione was cut off by Teddy screaming bloody murder. Harri shouted over her shoulder that they could finish this chat at another time when the boys weren't fighting for her attention.

Teddy was teething. Tom hated how much time Harri was having to give to Teddy over the last week, and Harri knew that because of the dirty little scowls he kept shooting his brother.

By the time Harri gotten them settled and finally put to sleep, its been hours and everyone was in bed sleeping. Harri let out a tired groan.

She had so much to think of and so many things to do and being a mum was a hard job. Not to mention at every free moment she had, she kept thinking about Tommy. It frustrated her to no end! They hadn't spoken or even saw one another since the day after he bailed her out of jail. She kept expecting him to show up and demand her attention like the other times he had the audacity to. But he never did... And she wondered if he was avoiding her.

Had she spooked him by saying she was falling for him?

She honestly couldn't blame the bloke. She was a single mother with two boys. Any man brave enough to take on another guys spawns was a real saint and she knew calling Tommy a saint was by no means accurate. He was a devil. Literally, people here called him "The Devil of Small Heath"and "The Peaky Devil". Either way, he wasn't a saint.

Too worked up despite being tired, Harri called for Kreacher to watch the boys and left the house to go on a walk. She wasn't going to go far because she was still keyed up over Campbell—she didn't think she'd be able to reel herself in without killing him if she saw him again. She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear any trouble or noise until she stumbled upon them.

Several men were pounding away on a man who was curled up on the ground barely making any noise.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Harri screamed.

The men paused, some of them laughed and went to kick Tommy again but she was faster. Wand out—she shot off several stinging hexes and bone-breaking curses, and they yelled out in pain. Only one of them was brave enough to run at her. It surprised her.

She was tackled to the ground. A ring-covered fist cracked loudly against her cheekbone, she felt the split and the warmth of blood trickle down from the wound. Another against her mouth causing her to moan in pain. Her magic lashed out and blasted him off her. She scrambled to her feet and lunged at him. Nails clawing into his face and neck, she lifted his head and bashed it into the pavement over and over again until he went limp. Harri fell off his chest. Her breath was heavy and her limbs were shaking. Emerald eyes turned to the limp form of Tommy and all the men had scattered.

She scrambled over to him, falling repeatedly to her knees and busting them up resulting in her crawling towards him, never minding the rocks tearing holes into her dress or stockings. "Tommy?" She whispered, her voice hoarse. "Tommy..."

He let out a pained groan making her let out a sigh of relief. His eyes barely cracked open to see her. She placed a delicate hand on his cheek. "Tommy?"

"Harriett?" He choked her name out.

"I'm here," She leaned over him. His eyes closed and his breath evened out. Harriett slid her arm under his neck and cradled his head in her palm, gathering a handful of his shirt—she apparated them to Watery Lane, right in an alley where she struggled to get him to stand up, leaning his weight on her to the point until she stupidly remembered she had magic and used it to ease his load and get him to his front door.

"Alohomora," She murmured, casting the charm on the door. It opened with a soft click and she shuffled him inside.

Getting upstairs without waking anyone was difficult, she was trying to be quiet as she tried to remember where his room was located until she huffed and used a point me spell.

She finally got him in his bed. Ignoring the sweet maple syrup smell that lingered around his nightstand. She stripped his coat and vest off, then his boots. Hesitantly, with warm cheeks— Harri unbuttoned his shirt telling herself she was just checking his injuries.

Unclipping his suspensers, she then worked his shirt off his shoulders. He was just in his undershirt and trousers now. Soundly clonked out still, not even making a pained groaning sound. Harri swallowed thickly and lifted his undershirt, a gasp leaving her at the sight of the blooming mess to his skin and what was undoubtedly a few broken ribs.

Clearing her mind, Harri began casting silencing charms in the room and then using a stunning spell on him due to not having any potions on hand... She began fixing him up with what little healing knowledge she had. He would still be in a lot of pain but at least he no longer had any broken bones and most of the damage was healed up apart from the bruising he would have to heal from naturally. She pulled his cover over his body and left the room, pausing in their kitchen and taking a seat. She would check on him a few times and then she would leave before anyone knew she was there.

⚡️

Tommy's mind was foggy when he awoke, unsure of how he had found himself back in his bed. Disoriented, he struggled to convince himself that he was truly awake and not trapped in the suffocating tunnels under the Somme, with the damp clay pressing in around him, robbing him of precious air. Shuddering at the memory, he reached for his nightstand, his hand automatically seeking his pipe. Although he had been trying to cut down on his smoking since returning from the war, the need for opium had never been more pressing.

Desperation clawed at him as he reached for the familiar comfort of opium, only to find none left. How could he have allowed himself to run out without realizing it? Frustration and self-reproach gnawed at him as he stumbled down the stairs, his mind clouded with the need to ease the relentless torment in his head.

As he descended the stairs, every step felt like a hard-fought victory. Determined to find some respite, he made his way to the kitchen, hoping to find any semblance of relief. With any luck, he'd be able to find something alcoholic that Arthur hadn't managed to drink yet. Battle-scarred memories haunted his every thought, and he longed for something, anything, to drown out the deafening echoes of explosions and the anguished cries of dying men. With dogged determination, he pressed forward, his gaze fixed on the promise of fleeting solace in the form of any available alcohol. Even fucking cooking sherry would do.

Tommy came to an abrupt stop when he saw the familiar face of a girl who had been appearing in his dreams and lingering in his thoughts but vexed him the most when he spotted her whenever he wandered the streets of Small Heath. He... He had been meaning to visit her but he'd been so caught up in business he hadn't the time. Now seeing her, he felt guilty for not trying to make time. After all, they had a moment in this very kitchen.

He a moment where he felt like he could finally have it all. The life, the wife... The boys... Grace didn't matter to him anymore. Harriett was it for him.

She was it. And he, he was so stupid by not even seeing her for lunch. She was probably furious with him after all that was said and implied. He wouldn't blame her for being furious with him

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to her usual stubborn and irritable demeanor. It jolted him fully awake.

"What are you doing here, Harriett?" he asked, trying to brush off the strange sensation that arose from her unexpected display of concern for him, no matter how small it may have seemed.

Harri rose from her dozing state, her head likely drifting in and out of sleep, seated at the worn-out kitchen table. Her sacrifice of enduring a night of restless sleep for his sake was endearing. "I was concerned about you," she repeated softly. "Don't you remember me finding you and treating your wounds?"

Confusion washed over Tommy at the mention of wounds. As he became more aware, he realized that the pain in his chest and ribs, the puffiness of his face, and the metallic taste in his mouth were all too real. The memory flooded back to him. It was Sabini's men. They had come for him, intent on beating him to death, but for some reason, they had stopped...

Tommy's gaze slowly moved across Harri's face, and he took a step closer to examine her closely. He noticed that her lip was split and there was a cut on her swollen cheek, accompanied by a prominent bruise. His eyes then shifted down to her bruised and cut-up knuckles.

She still had mottled brusing from her time spent in Jail and it pained him to see she was covered in new injuries for his sake.

"You're hurt," he murmured, taking another step closer and reaching out to gently touch her uninjured cheek. He delicately tilted her chin upward, wanting to get a better look at her injuries.

"That's a well-spotted observation," she teased, though she grimaced from the pain, likely caused by her lips twitching and reopening the split.

Droplets of blood oozed down her bottom lip. Tommy brushed it away gently with his thumb. He wiped it on his trousers, not caring about how normal it felt to do it. She was staring up at him, something soft and warm in her eyes. They were usually cold and hard... This was different. This was different than how she looked at him in his car.

He cleared his throat and took a step back, his voice filled with emotion. "Why?" he asked, a mix of confusion and curiosity in his eyes.

Why were you there for me? Why did you choose to rescue me? Why did you decide to intervene? Why did you bring me back with you? He wasn't sure what he was truly asking, but he needed to hear her explanation.

"I'm not a monster, Tommy."

Was that hurt he heard in her voice?

"Why wouldn't I help you? Despite what you think or anyone else for that matter, I'm actually a caring person. I'd take the shirt off my back to help someone and I would do it without thinking. They were going to kill you... I..." Her voice trailed off, she looked conflicted and hurt. "I don't like the idea of a world without you in it, Thomas."

Tommy was floored. He had once been positive she despised his guts and right down to his bare bones. Though he knew she was "falling for him" as she so put it, this new confession made him feel unsure how to act with her. Yet it softened him too because it meant the walls around her cold dead heart for anyone that wasn't her sons or sister was crumbling... And they were crumbling for him.

"I don't like the idea of a world without you either, Harriett," He admitted quietly. He meant it very much. She made him angry and annoyed but he also felt so alive in her presence. He didn't feel like he was living on borrowed time. Nor that any of it was just extra.

"I'm going home," She stepped toward him, confliction crossed her face for a flash of a moment and then she was standing on the tips of her boots and leaning into him, craning her neck though her mouth only reached the underside of his jaw.

It was enough. The softness of her plumpy little mouth. The warmth of her kiss. He wanted to yank her back to him and ask for her to do it again just so he could savor it but as quick as it came, she was gone and moving out of his kitchen and down the stairs. He heard the front door open and close... He closed his eyes and dropped down in the chair she had been using. Her smell lingered around... Like a warm bonfire and fallen leaves, hints of spices, and just that little hint of flora... He inhaled deeply.

Never realizing his need for opium went away in her presence or the fact his mind calmed into gentle waves of the ocean.

⚡

Harri told Hermione she had found Thomas Shelby being jumped. Hermione had gasped in outrage only for it to be quickly turned into worry because Harri had forgotten something rather important when she came to Thomas Shelby's aid.

She had forgotten to obliviate the men who witnessed her do magic.

Harri paled.

"Jesus Christ on a cracker!" Hermione yanked at her hair. "HARRI! We have to fix this! We have to fix it now! We have to find them! What if they have already spoken to others and the others have spoken to others and those others somehow get to the ministry?!?! You'll be imprisoned for breaking the stature of secrecy!"

"Breathe woman!" Harri yelled. "You're hysteria is making me anxious!"

"Well, you should be!" Hermione gasped. "You should be anxious! You broke the law!"

Harri screamed into her hands.

Ginny busted out of her room with a candle stick in hand. "Who am I killing!" She demanded.

It was sobering for Harri and Hermione who blinked at her and her "mighty" candlestick.

"Uh... Gin?" Harri said. Ginny put her candlestick down by her side. "You do realize you have a wand, right?"

Ginny blushed. "Right... Yeah," She put the candlestick down on the counter, patting her clothes. "As soon as I find the bloody thing."

"Why is everyone yelling?" Luna asked walking into the room with her giant duck slippers on making a quack sound with every step. "Are we going to commit a crime? You'll have to wait until I'm dressed to commit any felonies."

"What?" Hermione spluttered.

Luna just blinked all doe eyes and innocent looking.

"She scares me," Ginny pointed to Luna in all seriousness. "But I do like her line of thinking."

"Nobodies committing any felonies!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Uh, excuse me.." Harri raised her hand, her voice growing higher with every word. "Did you already forget...  I DID LAST NIGHT!!!"

"Oh my gods shut up Harriett!" Hermione shrieked. "We're going to fix it!"

"How dare you have fun without me!" Ginny gasped in outrage.

"Now is not the time, Ginerva!"

"Hermione?" Luna tapped her shoulder. "Are you by any chance bleeding? You seem rather moody."

Hermione to her credit really tried not to but sometimes a good foot stomp and shriek is cathartic.

⚡️

Hermione, Harri, and Ginny spent the rest of the day in London for the first time since coming back even further in time using Harri's cloak to track down the men she fought to fix the damage she made. Luna took Tom for the day—she was going fairy hunting in the woods with Arthur.

"By my great aunt Tessie's chin hair," Ginny grumbled. "I bloody hate London. This place stinks!"

"As opposed to Birmingham's flowery piss stench," Harri said dryily.

"It grows on you..." Ginny had meant it too. To think she was going to hate the city when they first arrived. Birmingham really does grow on you.

"I'm more focused on the fact you thought of your great aunt Tessie's chin hair," Hermione snickered.

"She had impressive chin hair," Ginny said seriously.

The three of them ended up giggling.

"That one!" Harri said suddenly, pointing to the man currently limping. "I broke his leg!"

"Oh, you don't say..." Hermione said dryly.

⚡️

Arthur smoothed his hair down, sniffing hard and lifting a hand to knock on the shop door. It swung open to reveal Luna, his cheeks warmed up at the smile she gave him.

She always gave him the sweetest smiles. She was an angel who talked to him like he was human and not the rabid dog everyone thought him to be. He knew he had his troubles, he drank them down every night but Luna didn't seem to mind. She saw goodness in him and that is why he was so fond of her.

"Hello, Luna," He greeted.

"Hello, Arthur Shelby," She patted his chest right over his heart. "We're going to have a good day."

"We are?" He never asked what it was they were to do when he came to see her when Tom didn't give him any orders. She always had something in mind though and he enjoyed looking around in the woods with her for things even if he honest to god had no bloody idea what it was they were supposed to be looking for. He just like basking in her light. It calmed the boat in his head. The waters weren't so rough around her.

"Harri left Thomas with me today!" Luna practically pranced around the room in joy when she let him in.

"Thomas?" Arthur was confused.

"Not your Thomas, silly!" Luna came back into the room with Tom. "Harri's Thomas! Oh wow... I just realized that going to be hard to decipher in the future." And then she giggled about something that seemed to highly amuse her that he wasn't privy to.

Arthur waved at Tom. The baby glared at him. Arthur blanched about how eerily similar that look was to his Tommy's look of annoyance.

"Whereas the other little lad and where—whereas Harri?" He asked, trying not to make eye contact with the boy.

"She and my sisters went to London," Luna grabbed her basket off the counter and held it out to him. He dutifully took it. "And Teddy is in his pram sleeping." She pointed at it. "Just let me put Thomas in it, then we can go."

"Without you?" He almost felt angry at them leaving Luna behind but he told himself it was a good thing. He liked spending time with Luna when he wasn't working.

"They didn't want me in the way."

"Doing what!" He growled. Now he was angry.

"Hunting down the men who hurt Thomas."

"Thomas? Harri's Thomas?"

"Yes."

Arthur was right confused. Who in the hell from London hurt Thomas?

"Who would hurt a baby?" He wondered.

Luna laughed. "Thomas Shelby isn't a baby, silly!"

"What!" Arthur balked. "You just said Harri's Thomas! My brother isn't Harriett's!"

"Are you sure about that?" Her eyes went all wide with wonder like she knew something he didn't.

"What do you mean my brother got hurt?!" The words finally caught up to him. "Who hurt Tom?"

Luna just smiled. "Don't worry your handsome head, Arthur Shelby. Harriett won't let them off easy. Hermione is also very vicious when she wants to be. And Ginny likes to blow things up."

"Wh-what?!"

⚡️

Tommy was unprepared to be rudely woken by Polly that morning and then to be chastised by her for getting the piss kicked out of him. He should be thankful Harri tended to his injuries or else Pol would have most certainly dragged him off by his ear to the nearest hospital. He doesn't know why but he had the feeling his injuries should have been worse than they were.

Whatever the case was, Pol confined him to his room like he was a child again being punished. He was to take the day off and under no circumstances was he to leave it to do any work. Everyone could do with a day of peace without any bloody scheming she had said. Considering the pain he was currently in, Tommy had grungily and only to himself agreed to such a thing. He of course wouldn't tell her that.

So, Tommy was once more wholly unprepared to have Arthur barging into his room chomping at the bit to know who the fuck it was who attacked him. How did Arthur even find out? Polly wasn't stupid enough to tell him. She just said she wanted a day's peace. Telling Arthur would most certainly not give her that or anyone, to be frank, peace.

Tommy just stared at him. Movement by the door caught his eye and she turned his head to find Miss Luna Potter standing there with one of Harri's son in her arms. Where was the younger one?

Arthur pointed to the girl.

"She told me Harriett went off to hunt down the men that did this to you! So you're gonna tell me what bloody happened and then we're going to thank Luna's sisters for doing our fookin' job!"

"What?" Tommy was not often surprised by people but he could admit that he was at this moment surprised by the very same woman who... had unfortunately surprised him last night. Oh, the bloody irony! Didn't he do the same to her when she held a gun to his fucking forehead? And pinned a very naughty note to his chest on the same night?

"Yeah!" Arthur was practically foaming out the mouth. "Harriett, Hermione, and Esme's little lessie went to take care of those fuckers!"

"What?"

"What! What! Stop saying; What!" Arthur yelled. "You a fookin' duck?"

"Shut up, Arthur!"

"Everyones quite emotional today," Luna told Tom. He nodded his head at her as if he agreed.

Chapter Text

"The right person will make you fall in love with yourself too."

- Unknown

⚡️

When Harri stepped out for work the following morning, the city was still caught in that hushed grey before dawn — the lamps burning low, their glass smudged with soot, and the cobblestones slick with last night's drizzle. Teddy was snuggled into his sling against her chest, warm and breathing slowly, while Tom clung to her hip with his head on her shoulder, still half-asleep. She balanced the nappy bag and her worn leather purse in the other hand, the weight pulling at her shoulder in a way she'd long since grown used to. She could have left the boys with Ginny but Ginny was the worst babysitter and Harri would have bet her left tit that she would have found Teddy stuck to the ceiling while Tom would have been "missing" and leaving the boys with Kreacher could have been good too but then people would ask questions about where she was keeping them because people can't stop being busy bodies.

She wasn't expecting however for anyone to be waiting. Which was why her steps slowed when she spotted Thomas Shelby leaning against the side wall of the bookshop with his hat low over his eyes and his usual cigarette between his fingers. The glowing tip flared briefly as he took one last drag, exhaling smoke into the damp air before flicking the butt to the ground and grinding it out under his heel.

His gaze found hers, cool and unreadable, and then — almost lazy — he said, "Want a lift?"

Harri blinked. She was used to the walk. Used to the early mornings and the dim-lit streets, the quiet, the rhythm of her own boots on stone. She adjusted Tom a little closer against her chest, her fingers brushing his soft curls.

"I—"

"Come on, love," Tommy interrupted, smiling faintly at the baby before meeting her eyes again. "Get in the car. I'll take you to Charlie's. I've business there today."

"I don't need—" Her voice came back sharp, ready for a fight, but he clearly wasn't interested in hearing her refusal. In one smooth movement, he stepped forward, took the straps from her shoulder, and walked off toward the idling motorcar without a backward glance. By the time she'd processed it, her bags were already tossed inside.

He opened the passenger door, nodding at it in silent command. "Get in, Harriett. I won't ask again."

She muttered a curse under her breath, planting her feet in an exaggerated stomp as she approached, if only to irritate him. The result backfired — he chuckled.

Her scowl deepened.

He offered his hand to help her up, steadying her while she climbed in with both boys still on her lap. Once she was settled, he closed the door gently and made his way around to the driver's side, sliding in and tipping his hat back just enough to glance at her.

"Why are you here?" she asked, the question laced with curiosity and frustration.

It was fair to ask. There had been plenty of mornings when he'd shown up at Charlie Strong's yard after she arrived, but he'd never once offered to give her a lift. Something was different. She could feel it — a shift in the air between them. She suspected it had to do with her pulling his arse out of trouble recently. If that was the case, then he could take his gratitude and shove it up his arse until it choked him.

Just because she didn't want him dead didn't mean she wanted him here. He was infuriating. And she was Harriett bloody Potter — she'd died, come back, and defeated the Dark Lord. Twice! Mind you. She didn't need some man deciding she was delicate.

Still, when he'd taken her bags and opened the door, something warm had curled low in her belly. She hated that. She hated that she was falling in love with him. It just wasn't on. It was a nuisance.

"You hunted down Sabini's men," he said finally, eyes still on the road.

"I didn't do it for you," she sneered. Which was kind of a lie. She may have done it more to correct the mistakes she made but she was also still really pissed off that these men had hurt him. As much as Thomas Shelby annoyed the ruddy hell out of her, she didn't like him hurting. He was so... Pretty. It would be a shame to the whole world for his pretty face to be done in permanently.

His laugh startled them both — it was low and genuine. She hadn't expected him to have a nice laugh.

"You hunted them down," he repeated, his tone smoothing into something unreadable. "Why?"

"Why not?" she sniffed.

He smirked. "Great motto, why not... So answer me this: why did you hunt them down, Miss Potter?"

"Miss Potter, is it now?"

"Just answer the fucking question, Harriett."

"Geez, dude. Fucking chill, yeah? No need to get your knickers in a twist."

He made a small noise in the back of his throat — annoyance, amusement, maybe both.

"I went after them because I messed up, okay?" She exhaled hard. "I don't regret it, Tommy. But it's not about you — your ego's bad enough as it is, you ruddy prick. It's about me not accepting that men like that get to walk around breathing."

"Men like that, eh?" he asked, ignoring the insult.

"Yeah," she said flatly.

"So... men like me?"

Her head snapped toward him. "Yes, Thomas. Men like you."

"Do you hate me, Harriett?"

"Yes."

"Good." He reached into his coat pocket and tossed her his cigarette case. "Light me one up."

She stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Not with my sons in the fucking car!"

"You can't be an unwed mother in Birmingham, sweetheart," he said with a chuckle. "Did you know that?"

"Fuck off," she scoffed. "I'll be whatever the bloody hell I want, and men like you can go suck it."

"You've got a mouth."

"Yeah, I do," she spat. "So get bent."

He smiled faintly, eyes on the road.

"Stop smiling!" she snapped.

"Whatever you say, love."

"I'm not your love either."

For some reason, he thought he wouldn't mind if she was. She was an odd, sharp little thing — not just because she'd had the metaphorical bollocks to save him, but because she seemed incapable of being anything but entirely herself, even when it meant cursing him to his face.

Different, he thought. Different was good.

And she was very different.

Tommy pulled into Charlie's yard, the motor humming low. Before the handbrake was even set, Harri had shoved the door open. She was on the ground and walking away like she'd been spring-loaded, her hips moving with a deliberate little sway that had nothing to do with wanting to tempt him — and everything to do with being furious.

It made him laugh for the second time that morning.

The third came when she glanced over her shoulder, eyes sparking that particular brand of green fire he'd come to expect from her. Acidic. Sharp. Beautiful. He let her go. Watched her disappear into the stables where Curly greeted her with a warm grin and a "Mornin', Miss Potter" before shutting the door behind her.

"Are you messing her around?" Uncle Charlie's voice came from the other side of the car, low and edged.

Tommy reached for his cigarette case without looking up. "No one's messing anyone around, Uncle."

"You better not be." Charlie's gaze was unblinking. "She's a good girl. She doesn't need your shite. And those boys don't need either."

Tommy just hummed in answer, sliding a cigarette between his lips. "I need to get to London," he said instead, flicking the match. "Back way in."

Charlie grunted. "Got a shipment to push through. I can get you in, but it'll be tight."

"As long as no one notices me," Tommy muttered, drawing in the smoke.

Harri, meanwhile, was in the stables actively trying not to imagine throwing a pitchfork through his smug face. After she got her boys in their "play pen" as she dubbed the boxed in area that's been highly baby proofed by Curly and Charlie, she grabbed the nearest shovel and hurled it into the pile of straw with a sharp thunk.

"Woah, now. Down, girl," came Opie's voice from the far stall.

"Oh, fuck off, Opie!" she snapped, rounding on him.

Hands went up in surrender. "Not in the mood then, eh?"

"No. I most certainly am not in the mood."

"...Right. Sorry."

The apology barely registered. She was still seething when, less than an hour later, Uncle Charlie called her out to help haul the tarp over the barge. She pushed her sleeves up, muttering under her breath, but froze when she spotted Tommy — who was still here — stepping down into the barge beside Curly.

Her boots crunched against the edge of the cut. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah," he said simply, pulling out his cigarette case. The flare of the match lit the sharp line of his jaw, the faint curve of his mouth. Smoke curled between them.

"Are... are you coming back tonight?"

It wasn't the question so much as the way she asked it and it wasn't soft, exactly, but with a flicker of something unguarded. Her eyes dropped to the side of his torso, where his jacket didn't quite hide the stiffness of his movements. She knew he was hurt under there. She had tended to his ribs the best she could but she wasn't a healer. Not like Hermione who could have done a hell of a lot better job than her.

Tommy noticed her noticing.

"I'll be fine, Harri." His voice was quieter, lower than she was used to hearing from him. Then, as if making up his mind, he reached into his pocket and tossed something her way.

She caught it instinctively — cold metal in her palm. His car keys.

Her eyes snapped up to his. "Why?"

"You've got kids," he said simply. "You shouldn't be walking alone in the dark. Least you can do is be safe about it."

Her throat felt too tight for the retort she wanted to make. That warmth — the one she hated had spread through her chest again.

She tried for a scoff, but it came out quieter than she'd like. "You're assuming I need your bloody charity."

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but not far from it. "Call it what you want, love. Just take the keys."

They stood there a beat too long, the sound of the water lapping at the barge filling the space between them. Her fingers curled around the keys, feeling the faint warmth from his pocket still clinging to the metal. His gaze dipped briefly — to the curve of her hip where her hand had tucked the keys into her trousers — before snapping back up to her face.

She held his stare, daring him to say something. He didn't. He just let that look linger as if he was memorising her.

Finally, he gave a short nod and stepped down into the barge without another word.

Harri stayed there longer than she meant to, the scent of his cigarette smoke hanging in the damp air, her fingers absently tracing the key's ridges through her pocket until Charlie barked at her to get back to work.

⚡

As Harri parked the gleaming black motor outside Mrs. Temble's shop, she felt the weight of eyes before she even killed the engine. Sure enough, the shopkeeper herself was standing in the doorway with a basket of wool under one arm, her brow knitting as though she'd spotted a wolf wandering down Watery Lane.

Her gaze flicked from the car to Harri, to the makeshift seating contraption in the back — crates, an iron rod, thick strips of fabric and rope — all rigged to keep her boys safe.

Mrs. Temble's voice was tentative. "Is... is that Thomas Shelby's motor car?"

The way she said his name, like she was afraid of summoning him, made Harri want to roll her eyes. Instead, she pushed open the driver's door and stepped out, shifting Tom on her hip before leaning in to unbuckle Teddy.

"He said I could borrow it," Harri replied evenly, setting Tom down so he could toddle toward the door— he wasn't very good at it. He kept wobbling and falling down and then huffing with a glare because not being able to walk apparently vexed him. "Is it alright if I park it here?"

Mrs. Temble's complexion went a shade paler. "Y–yes... but dear..." Her voice dropped a note lower. "You... you aren't involved with Mr. Shelby, are you?"

And there it was.

Harri fucking knew this was going to happen. Because of course — of course — if a man so much as handed a woman his bloody coat in this town, everyone assumed she'd been flat on her back for him.

"No, Mrs. Temble," Harri said, the words clipped as she forced a breath in through her nose before she snapped at the poor woman. The shopkeeper was concerned, not malicious. Probably.

Still, Harri could feel the bristle under her skin. Polly might have been the one to muscle Mrs. Temble into renting them the flat, but that didn't mean Harri or her sisters had joined hands with the whole Shelby clan and started singing hymns and Kumbaya.

Luna had her easy, airy way of getting along with Arthur and Esme — even John, though he tended to keep to the edges. Ginny, somehow, liked Polly and Esme well enough, and Arthur too. Hermione, of course, had made fast friends with Polly in that warm but guarded way of hers, the kind of friendship that was solid without being loud about it.

Harri... Well, Harri kept her own counsel. She could be friendly when she wanted to be, especially with Esme for the boys' sake, but most people in Small Heath didn't meet her eyes for long. It was like there was something in her gaze that made them uncomfortable, something they couldn't quite name. She wondered sometimes if it was the glamour — if they'd be even worse about it if they saw the scars she kept hidden.

And then there was Thomas bloody Shelby.

Tommy, who looked her dead in the eye. Tommy, who didn't flinch when she snapped at him, who gave as good as he got and almost seemed to enjoy it. Tommy, who had handed her his car keys without hesitation.

And damn it all, she liked arguing with him.

Mrs. Temble grimaced once more before bustling away down the street, leaving the air thick with unsaid things.

Harri huffed out a breath, her lips twitching into a grimace of her own. She pushed the shop door open, the bell above it giving a half-hearted ring.

Inside, the scent of paper and dust and ink wrapped around her. Hermione was midway through shelving a stack of new arrivals, but if one looked closely enough, they'd see the faint shimmer of magic — the pile of books on the counter slowly vanishing, one by one, to their proper places.

"Hey," Harri greeted, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

"Hello, Harri." Hermione looked over her shoulder, her tone warm but distracted. "Kreacher's got dinner on. He says it'll be ready soon."

Harri nodded, but her mind was still half outside. "Brilliant," she said, crouching slightly to shift Tom higher on her hip before lifting him one-handed over the shop threshold. She set him down carefully, but he still went to his knees with a soft thud.

He gave her a small glare — the kind only a toddler could muster — before grabbing the nearest shelf edge and hauling himself upright again, determination written all over his little face.

Harri's annoyance with the rest of the world melted instantly. "Look at you go, Thomas!" she praised, her voice bright with genuine pride.

Tom's face split into a wide grin, giggles bubbling out of him.

Teddy, watching from her other arm, made a happy cooing noise... and then promptly spit up down his front and across Harri's blouse. Warm, sour-smelling liquid seeped through the cotton. She wrinkled her nose and let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

"Lovely," she muttered. "Perfect way to accessorize."

Hermione, who'd set her books down to applaud Tom's effort, chuckled. She flicked her wand at the stack so they floated neatly into place and clapped her hands. "Come to Aunt Mione, Thomas!"

Tom babbled nonsense in reply, leaning toward her with an excited squeal. Harri kept a steadying grip under his arms, helping him take his wobbly steps toward Hermione. His feet skidded once or twice on the wooden floor, but he didn't seem to care — his focus was all on his aunt.

It wouldn't be long now. Harri could already see it — soon he'd be darting through the flat like a little cannonball, into everything he shouldn't be.

"You got him?" Harri asked, passing Tom the last bit of the way. "I need to change my shirt before I smell like a dockside bin."

Hermione's eyes flicked to the spit-up stain and she smirked. "Did Curly feed him fish broth again?"

"Yup," Harri said, already undoing the top buttons. "Merlin, just smelling it makes my stomach curdle."

Hermione laughed, but Harri's mind wandered in that moment — just for a flicker — back to the faint scent of cigarette smoke and leather that had clung to Tommy's car. And damn it, even fish broth couldn't quite shove that thought out of her head. She hated that she'd noticed. Hated even more that she'd liked it.

A few hours later when their bellies were full of roast and braised vegetables and the air heavy with the scent of gravy and fresh bread — the flat had settled into its comfortable chaos.

Hermione had migrated to the cupboard-turned-library, muttering to herself as she dug through the magically expanded shelves. From the sound of it, she was working out some complex illumination charm. Something about light orbs that wouldn't "blind the ever-living hell" out of her when she needed a midnight cup of tea. She claimed she was tired of stubbing her toes in the dark, but Harri suspected this was also Hermione's polite way of saying she was done stepping on Teddy's and Tom's toys.

Across the room, Harri and Ginny were locked in a vicious chess match. Luna, in her usual dreamlike way, lounged on the floor with her head resting against Harri's thigh, absently braiding strands of her own hair while watching Tom attempt to stack wooden blocks in increasingly dangerous configurations. Teddy had already been tucked into his crib, soft little snores carrying across the room out of Harri and the boys' bedroom.

The peace shattered when Hermione barrelled in like a librarian on fire, clutching a book like it had personally insulted her.

"We have a major problem!" she gasped, cheeks flushed.

Harri didn't even glance up from the board. "What is it? Knight to f3."

"Don't let him attack you, Rufus!" Ginny yelled down at her pawn, who promptly squeaked and tried to lift his shield.

Harri's knight didn't hesitate. He galloped across the board and skewered Rufus right through the chest.

Ginny sighed dramatically. "Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic."

"LOOK!" Hermione slammed the book into Harri's chest with enough force to make her grunt.

"Christ, woman! Ever heard of handing something over like a normal person?" Harri rubbed her sternum.

She glanced down at the cover, brows knitting. For the Greater Good by Gellert Grindelwald. She blinked. "Isn't he—ah, fuck me."

"I know!" Hermione said, looking far too pleased that Harri had caught on so quickly.

"Is someone going to tell us what the bloody hell is going on?" Ginny demanded, crossing her arms.

"We have a Dark Lord," Luna announced matter-of-factly, as though she were pointing out the weather. "He's in America right now."

Everyone stared at her.

She tilted her head. "I am a Ravenclaw, you know."

Ginny muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like you're something, alright.

Hermione threw Harri a pointed look. "You have the Hallows. You can't be seen with them! Remember what Rita Skeeter wrote? I have that book somewhere... Dumbledore and Grindelwald were obsessed with the Deathly Hallows. Grindelwald even used the symbol in his campaign."

"I remember, Mione," Harri said dryly, like she was being reminded to tie her shoes. "I'll be careful."

But the truth was, dread was already curling deep in her gut like a cold hand. She was so bloody tired of Dark Lords. There had been one, then he came back to life, and apparently now they came in collectible editions. Complete the set, get a free therapy owl.

She flipped the book open. "Where the hell did we even get this?"

Hermione shrugged in that way that meant I'm pretending I don't know so you don't yell at me.

"Kreacher!" Harri called.

The old elf popped into the room, bowing deeply. "Yes, great and powerful Mistress?"

Harri held up the book. "Where did we get this?"

His eyes lit up. "That was Master Orion's, Mistress! His grandfather bought it for him after he met Dark and cruel Grindelwald on his trip to France."

Harri blinked. "Sirius was a Grindelwald supporter?"

"Yes, Mistress. He was."

She turned another page and found a signature — To Orion Black, for the greater good. Her eyebrows shot up. "Merlin's saggy—" She cut herself off, handing the book back.

"We have to do something!" Hermione fretted, her tone doing that high-pitched thing that set Harri's teeth on edge.

"I am doing jack-diddly-squat," Ginny said flatly, sitting back in her chair. "We did our bit. Look where that got us — traumatized, bitter, and in desperate need of a lifetime of therapy we'll never get."

Harri pointed at her. "Preach."

"But—" Hermione began.

"We can send anonymous tips," Luna suggested, her voice calm as always. "To Dumbledore."

Harri froze mid-breath. "Oh, fuck me sideways! I forgot that old coot is alive!"

"Harriett!" Hermione snapped. "Language!"

"Sod off," Harri said, waving her away. "Send your stupid tips. I want no part in this. I just want to raise Thomas and Theodore in peace. If that makes me selfish? Then so bloody be it."

The words sat heavy on her chest, but she meant them. Every syllable.

Since the moment her parents had been murdered, she'd been someone else's pawn — shuffled, sacrificed, used in games she'd never agreed to play. She'd spent years chasing after a man she'd been groomed to trust, desperate for scraps of approval from someone who had already decided how her life would end. And now, after all of it, she was expected to step up again?

The glamour slipped from her face without her even trying, leaving her scars bare. Hermione's eyes widened despite herself. Luna's smile was soft. Ginny's, pained.

"You're beautiful, Harriett," Luna said simply.

Harri's throat tightened. "I am so tired, Hermione. Tired of fighting. I just want a year — one year — to love myself enough to look in a mirror and say I survived without immediately hearing the list of people who didn't."

"Technically, they're not born yet," Hermione offered, trying for optimism and failing miserably.

Harri's cheeks flushed red, and for a second it looked like steam might actually come out of her ears.

"JUST BECAUSE WE CAME TO THE PAST DOES NOT MEAN IT DIDN'T HAPPEN, HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER!"

She shot to her feet, chest heaving. Tom let out a startled cry, and Harri scooped him up in an instant, pressing his small body close. Without another word, she stormed down the hall and slammed her bedroom door so hard the hinges rattled.

Teddy, thank god, could sleep through an atomic bomb going off and was still sound asleep.

Clutching Tom, Harri tried to steady her breathing, but the rage was molten under her skin. His tiny hands pressed to her cheeks as if he could push the anger away, but it only made the guilt worse. When his cries matched her own, she realized she was past talking. Past explaining. Past reason.

Her hands moved on their own, pulling a bag from the wardrobe.

She was packing before she'd even decided where she was going.

⚡️

"Nice one, Granger," Ginny said flatly.

"I didn't say anything wrong!" Hermione snapped, though her voice cracked.

"You said really insensitive things," Luna said, glaring at her with rare venom. Hermione bit her lip, but it was too late.

From down the hall came the muffled sound of crying—two voices, Harri's and Thomas's—raw and aching. Hermione turned toward it. "I should go check on her," she said, already moving, but the second her shoes lifted, they didn't.

A sticky, unyielding weight clung to her feet. She looked down. Hardened molds of glue encased her shoes.

Her eyes darted to Ginny, but the redhead was glaring at her from across the room. It wasn't her.

It was Luna.

"Leave her alone, Hermione Granger!" Luna hissed, her wand trembling in her grip. "You've done enough! We've all done enough! She needs this. She needs to feel and not be afraid of it. Harri hasn't been able to grieve properly—ever. And you—" Luna's voice sharpened like shattered glass. "—you made her feel like she was back in that cage Dumbledore built for her, and you didn't even notice."

"In the way—" Hermione blinked, trying to deny it, but the words wouldn't come.

She tore at the glue with a muttered countercharm, nearly tripping as it gave way, and bolted for Harri's room— only to hear the sharp, cold crack of Apparition.

"Where did she go, Luna?!" Hermione demanded.

"Yell at her again," Ginny sneered. "Go on, Mione. I dare you."

"I'm tired of fighting!" Hermione's voice wavered into a whine. "We can't let Harri go off on her own—she needs us!"

"She'll be fine," Luna said, but her voice was heavy. "Better without you for now." She turned and headed for the stairs. "Good night."

Ginny followed without another word, leaving Hermione standing alone, her hands gripping her bushy hair, tears sliding hot down her face.

Her mind replayed Luna's words again and again. You made her feel like she was back in that cage Dumbledore built for her.

And for the first time tonight, Hermione realised she hadn't just been wrong—she'd been cruel.

Chapter Text

"The dark does not destroy the light. It defines it. It's our fear of the dark that casts our joys into the shadows."

- Brere Brown

⚡

Harri landed in the one place in London that she had always loved the most.

Saint James Park.

It was the place she snuck off to after she defeated Voldemort to get some peace. It was a lovely park back in her time and even more beautiful in the past. It was clean and ducks and swans were in the water, swimming around even this late at night. Harri pulled the blanket a little firmer around Teddy and Tom and moved to sit on one of the benches lining the pavement. It would have made sense if she had taken a pram but she had been stupidly brash and strapped Teddy in his sling to her chest and held her Tom on her hip.

Tom shuffled off her lap and moved to sit beside her, holding his and Teddy's plushie of "padfoot" and looking at the pond. Harri took another afghan shawl from her purse and wrapped it around his shoulders. He smiled up at her like he thought she could never do him any harm.

"Mummy," He said quietly. "Go bye-bye?"

He was extremely intelligent for a child who was only 15 months old. He was speaking better every day and it saddened her just a bit that he stopped calling her "momma" and moved on to calling her "mummy" She dreaded the day he would deem that too childish and call her "mum."

"Just for a bit, Thomas," Harri brushed his curls from his eyes. "I needed to get away for a pop."

"Mad?" Tom asked.

"No, my love. I'm not mad. Just overwhelmed."

"Auntie Mimi makes ou sad? You cry."

Harri looked down fondly at him. She loved Tom so much. It was strange that she could find it in her heart to love him the way she does knowing the future version of him would cause her such heartache and pain. But that was the Tom Riddle of her past. This was the Tom of her future and he was such a kind little boy who was just as intelligent but he knew what love was because she showed him it every single day.

"We had a small tiff but sisters do that. Just like how you'll fight with Teddy and love and forgive him anyway in the future. Family always fights but in the end, we make up and laugh it off."

Tom nodded his head as if he understood her. Which he most likely didn't because he was still a baby but Harri knew Tom wasn't just a normal baby. He had the potential to be one of the greatest wizards this world has ever seen. He was so smart, and from the accidental magic she's seen him do, she didn't think they were as accidental as they should have been.

"I love you, Mummy," Tom said and kissed her hand and cuddled her thigh. Harry's throat tightened.

"I love you too, my Thomas. So much."

Harri rocked Teddy absently against her chest, his small fist tangled in her hair as he slept soundly. His soft baby-snores filled the night, almost drowned by the distant quacking of ducks across the pond. For a moment, Harri let the silence wrap around them like a balm. It reminded her of after the war—when the whole world wanted pieces of her and she had slipped away, invisible and anonymous, to sit here with no expectations pressing down on her. She wished she could hold on to that same feeling now. But she had two babies depending on her, and one of them carried the weight of history she had already lived through.

"Mummy, no cry," Tom murmured suddenly, his tiny brows drawn together as if the thought pained him. He was still clumsy with words, but Harri had learned to read the sharp clarity in his eyes—the way they absorbed everything. "Mummy happy. Mummy stay."

Her chest hurt. How was she supposed to reconcile this little boy—the boy who kissed her hand like a prince from a fairy tale—with the man she remembered from the battlefield, eyes lit with hunger and cruelty? She tucked the shawl tighter around his small body and pressed a kiss into his curls, inhaling the scent of soap and milk and something that was simply Tom.

"I'll always stay," she promised, even though her throat burned with the knowledge of how fragile promises could be.

Tom beamed at her, as if he hadn't just asked her to swear the impossible.

For the briefest moment, Harri let herself believe it—that love could be enough, that showing him a different path might undo centuries of damage before they even began. She knew better, of course. Fate had a vicious way of circling back no matter how far she tried to run. But sitting there with Teddy's soft breaths against her chest and Tom's small hand clutching hers like it was the only anchor he had, she decided she'd fight fate again if she had to.

Because this time, Tom wasn't a Dark Lord. He was her son.

She did not know how long she had sat there, but it had been some time. That's why she was surprised when she came back to herself and realized the sun was rising, still pale and weak in the sky, not yet enough to stir the birds into song.

Harri rose, stretching the stiffness from her body. Both boys slept soundly in her arms, small warm weights she kissed and breathed in like medicine. Their curls smelled faintly of milk and lavender and lye soap. It steadied her heart. She began walking out of the park and heading towards Camden.

"Harriett?"

Her spine snapped taut. Her wand slid from her sleeve and into her hand in a blink. She turned sharply—
And stopped.

Thomas Shelby stood there, a frown carved deep into his face, smoke curling around him from the cigarette pinched between his lips. His pale eyes flicked from her to the children and back again, cold as cut glass.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he asked, voice low and sharp, smoke spilling with the words.

Harri's glare was instant. "Are you my keeper now? I didn't think I'd need your permission. I can go where I please."

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes—worry, panic, she wasn't sure—before his face shuttered into the usual cool mask. But she hadn't imagined it.

"You're in fucking London," he said, stepping closer, voice tightening. "With your kids. Alone. In the dark. What were you thinking, eh? Wandering about without someone at your back?"

She opened her mouth, but he was already moving. He strode forward, tossed the cigarette to the ground, and caught her arm in his hand. His grip wasn't bruising, but it was unyielding, pulling her down the street before she could think to resist.

A group of men rounded the corner. Tommy's reaction was immediate—instinct. He shifted Tom out of her arms into his own, the boy going willingly, nestling against his neck. With his other hand, he anchored Harri at his side, his palm splayed firm at the small of her back, his coat brushing against her as he pulled her close, tight into his space. Possessive. Protective.

The men nodded. Tommy nodded back. His body never loosened, nor did his arm leave her waist.

Neither did Harri pull away. Her chest felt tight, and warm, like something dangerous had been set alight inside her.

Once they were close to a closed diner, Tommy yanked her into the small alleyway and up the path where she could hear men talking but still quite a bit away from understanding them. Water was lapping up against something. They were near the Thames, she imagined. Near the "January" that Charlie let Tommy hitch a ride on. The very same barge Tommy had been born on.

Tommy grabbed her chin, tilting her face up in the now-rising orange glow cast against the stone walls. His grip was unyielding, thumb pressing into her jaw as their eyes locked. She felt the urge to pull away, to avert her gaze, but it was useless. He held her there, not by strength but by sheer will.

"You didn't drive?" His voice was low, cutting, laced with that measured calm that always felt more dangerous than shouting.

"No," she whispered.

His gaze dropped, tracing the curve of her cheek, the line of her hair. He didn't bother hiding that he was studying her like a problem he intended to solve.

"What am I going to do with you, Harri?" His mouth twitched at the corner, more smirk than smile, more threat than charm.

She swallowed hard. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Harri felt uncomfortable all of a sudden with a strange feeling creeping on her as if she knew he could see her.

Tommy tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She froze. Her eyes widened as he leaned close, lips brushing her ear.

"You look like you need a smoke." His breath was warm against her skin. Then, in the same beat, his voice softened into that low conspiratorial tone he used with family. "Give me Teddy too."

Her hands fumbled with the sling. He shifted Tom onto his hip with practiced ease, then plucked Teddy out of the fabric like he'd been holding babies his whole life. He handed her his cigarette case and matches, casual as if they weren't standing in a back alley with London crime stirring just yards away.

She paused, caught by how natural he looked with her sons in his arms. Teddy squirmed against his chest, Tom blinking awake, glaring at him.

"Mummy," Tom mumbled, burrowing closer.

Tommy turned the boy slightly so he could see her, already sparking the match to light her cigarette. Harri inhaled deeply, the first drag hitting her like water to a parched throat. Her body melted with relief.

"Oh god," she muttered around the smoke.

"Mummy!" Tom suddenly barked, sharper now, glaring daggers.

Harri snapped her gaze down, emerald eyes flashing. "Thomas Potter, don't get that tone with me."

"Mummy! No! No!" He twisted in Tommy's hold, wild-eyed, as if Tommy himself were the enemy.

Tommy tilted his head, watching him. "Don't think he likes me."

Harri laughed softly. "I don't think he does either."

"Oi, kid." Tommy nudged his chest with the back of a finger, not rough but firm enough to demand attention. Tom's glare burned hotter. Tommy didn't flinch. "Let your mum have her smoke, eh? She's right there. No need for dramatics."

Tom's scowl faltered. Slowly, his small hand dropped to Tommy's shirt, tugging at the buttons instead.

"There you go," Tommy said smoothly, his tone warming. "Women, Tom. They need their quiet. Their time. Same as us. They put up with more of our nonsense than we deserve. The best thing a man can do is give it back."

Harri drew another pull from the cigarette, exhaling with a slow nod of gratitude. She handed the butt toward him.

Tommy took it between two fingers, far from the boys. He noticed the faint red tint she'd left on the filter. Without hesitation, he put his mouth to it, finishing it off with the ease of a man who didn't mind sharing vices.

Suddenly, the alley wasn't so warm anymore or light. It went dark fast, bone-deep cold settling over them until even breath turned white in the air. The impending sensation of dread crawled down Harri's throat like poison.

"Take Tom!" her voice broke sharp and high, almost a whine—desperation leaking through cracks she usually sealed tight. She thrust the boy into Tommy's arms with no room for argument.

Tommy's pulse spiked, rage rising before he even knew why. He opened his mouth, ready to snap at her for demanding anything of him, but then—

Her wand was in her hand, pale knuckles taut around it. She spun on her heel.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The night detonated into silver-blue brilliance. Tommy flinched hard, blinking through the blaze as he clutched both boys tight to his chest. They whimpered, hiding their faces against his coat. He squinted through the glare just in time to see the thing take shape—a deer, no, a doe—made of sheer light. It grew more solid, more real, until it bounded down the alley, scattering the unseen terror with its charge.

And just like that, the heaviness that had pressed down on his chest, the sorrow and anger he hadn't understood, dissolved. But the echo of it still clung, like smoke after fire.

Tommy's eyes cut back to her.

She looked stricken. The stick in her hand trembled, her breath came ragged, and her face—Christ, her face. White as fresh snow, shining with unshed tears, eyes alight with a power he couldn't name. Scars he'd never seen before carved across her skin, bare and unhidden. The illusion she wore daily forgotten.

Without thought, Tommy pulled her in against him, clutching her into his chest while his free arm held tight to the boys. She curled like she'd been waiting her whole life for this—small frame pressed into him, one hand clutching her children, the other sliding up his back until her fingers hooked at the nape of his neck, clinging there as though she'd drown if she let go.

A sob ripped out of her throat. Raw. Shaking.

"I got you," Tommy murmured, voice low, steady, the way he spoke to frightened horses. "You're alright. We're alright."

"I fucking hate Dementors!" she gasped, voice cracked. "I fucking hate them!"

He froze. The word meant nothing to him—Dementors—but he knew enough to place it. Magic. Her kind of magic. The kind that had shifted the air, pulled his heart into despair, then banished it with the light of that glowing deer.

Magic that wasn't even there anymore.

Tommy looked at her again, really looked. The scars she usually hid ran like vines of lightning across her face, each one sharp and pale. They should've been ugly. But instead, they made her look like something forged, not broken. Fire-kissed. Untouchable.

Beautiful.

More beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

And right there, Tommy Shelby knew he was damned. Damned because he wanted her. Wanted that sharp rose with all her thorns, wanted to taste every scar with his lips and burn the map of them into his memory.

Damn his oath to swear women off. Damn his common sense.

He wanted Harriett Potter. He wanted that prickly rose, desiring more deeply than he had ever desired anything before.

"Harri," Tommy's voice cracked low and strange, touched with something she couldn't name— something that made her ribs feel tight, like they were about to splinter. Despite every instinct telling her to turn away, she drew back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes pinned her in place, cold and blazing both, but not cruel. Never cruel. He looked at her as if he'd caught sight of some hidden wound no one else had the patience—or the courage—to keep their eyes on.

Tom stirred in her arms, and before she could react, the boy threw himself into her chest, hiding his face in her coat. The warmth grounded her for a moment, but then Tommy's hand rose, slow, deliberate. He didn't ask permission when he cupped her cheek, the cheek where fire and war and loss had carved their jagged stories into her skin.

Harri should have flinched. Should have recoiled. But instead her bones betrayed her, leaning into his palm as though she'd been waiting for this exact touch all her life. His thumb traced the deepest grooves, and she realized with a rush of shame that her pulse was racing at the gentleness. No one touched her scars like this—like they weren't grotesque at all, like they were worth mapping.

"I see you, Harriett," he said, his voice like velvet dragged over stone. "You're a rose. A beautiful rose whose petals never wilted—no matter how many storms tried to tear you apart."

Her brows furrowed, disbelief clawing at her chest. A rose? Her? His words seared into her before she could build up her armor again.

"Why did you hide them?" His fingers traced lower, softer. "They're extraordinary."

It felt like ice water crashing over her head. Panic flared. The magic that lived under her skin surged to the surface, rushing to blot out every imperfection. Her scars blurred, vanished, until her face looked as it always did to the outside world. Safe. Clean. Untouched.

Tommy didn't so much as blink. He stepped forward, pressing her back to the wall. His voice was calm, steady—but carried the weight of command. "Don't," he said. "Don't hide them from me, love."

She trembled, and she hated herself for it. Plenty had stared before—some with pity, some with revulsion. She could handle gawking. She could handle whispered apologies. But this? This softness that wasn't weakness, this unwavering gaze that said he meant it? It shredded her inside out.

Her heart rebelled. Because he wasn't looking at a freak. He wasn't offering her pity. He was seeing her. As she was. And the thought terrified her more than every curse and battlefield she had survived.

If he was seeing her... then she was seeing him too.

Her magic wavered, then slipped away. Every scar etched itself clearly across her face, and she felt naked in a way she hadn't felt since childhood. Tommy's lips curved, faint but real, and it broke her apart all over again.

He wasn't scrutinizing her nor was he muttering his apologies for her disfigurement. Tommy was gazing at her with his usual demeanor only there was a strange softness there, it didn't feel right for him to direct it at her solely on principle.

"I won't ask what gave them to you," he murmured, palm returning to her cheek like it belonged there. "But don't hide from me again. I want to see you, Harriett. Just as you are. No tricks. No Gimmicks. Not when it's just us."

Her throat tightened until words couldn't pass through. All she could do was nod, though shame burned in her belly at how much she wanted to believe him.

Tommy lingered for only a second longer before stepping away, tapping Tom's cheek as if to anchor them both back to reality. He lit a cigarette with hands too steady for the storm that had just passed between them.

"Come," he said, smoke curling from his lips. "Let's go home."

Harri followed, her chest twisting into a knot of warmth and dread. She kept sneaking glances at him, searching for cracks in his calm, but he only flicked his gaze back at her now and then, enough to remind her that he knew she was watching.

By the time the docks came into view, her magic had crawled back over her skin, smoothing her face into the mask she always wore. She told herself it was safer this way. But the memory of his hand on her scars burned hotter than the shame of hiding them again.

When Tommy went to help her onto the January, his hand steady under her elbow, he looked the tiniest bit displeased to see her face covered again. His blue eyes flicked across her skin, catching the shimmer of glamoured smoothness where her scars should've been, but he didn't say a word. His jaw just shifted, a cigarette caught between his teeth, and Harri knew he noticed. Knew he wasn't happy about it.

"H-Harri!" Curly greeted her as she stepped onto the boat, his voice bright. He stumbled a little with the rope he was meant to coil, and Harri caught it for him before it slipped into the water.

"Hello, Curly," she smiled, handing the rope back. His ears went pink and he ducked his head.

Tommy didn't comment. Not on her face, not on her silence. Harri thought he might, thought the conversation from London would follow them like a shadow, but instead it was... nothing. He smoked, gave his orders, and worked like he always did.

She knew Tommy hadn't forgotten what happened in London. Thomas Shelby didn't forget. He would hold all of it close in that sharp, calculating mind of his. She also knew, deep down, that a reckoning was coming. A real conversation, not just about who she was, but what she was, and what kind of danger came tethered to her name.

But for now? For now, it seemed they both silently agreed to let the matter lie. And so it became their rhythm.

⚡

Harri's arms ached from balancing Tom on one hip while pushing Teddy's new pram with her free hand, but she didn't complain. When she arrived at the Shelby on Watery Lane, Polly had immediately sent one of the blinder boys out to purchase a Pram for Harri even if it wasn't a big deal to just hold them both for her walk home. Tommy had business to tend to and would he busy so she gave him his key and he kissed her head and left to get his car. Polly insisted she stay for dinner and keep her company.

The walk back from the Shelbys after dinner had been quiet — the kind of quiet that weighed heavily, as though the whole of Small Heath was holding its breath. Tom fussed now and then, but Teddy was blessedly asleep, little chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. When she stepped through the door of their narrow little flat above the bookshop, Hermione was there waiting in the cramped sitting room. She looked pale, her hands knotted together in front of her, twisting the fabric of her skirt until it threatened to tear.

"Harri," Hermione said softly, voice rough.

Harri's stomach turned. She hadn't been ready for this yet — not the look on Hermione's face, not the tension that had been simmering between them since last night. She shifted Tom onto the floor, letting him totter toward his wooden blocks, and lowered herself onto the settee, careful not to wake Teddy.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Hermione blurted out, "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have — I should've been more careful with what I said about Dumbledore, about—" She cut herself off, biting her lip. "I made it sound like you were just... afraid. That was cruel. You've lived through more than I can ever understand, and I was treating it like—like a strategy problem on a chessboard."

Harri blinked, stunned into stillness. She hadn't expected Hermione to fold so quickly, nor so completely.

"I wasn't fair either," Harri said quietly, shifting Teddy just enough to brush her hand over his downy hair. "I snapped at you. I shouldn't have. I know you weren't trying to hurt me. You were just... doing what you always do. Thinking three steps ahead. And you're right, Hermione. Grindlewald is a problem. If you see a chance to stop him before he rises, I understand why you want to take it."

Hermione's shoulders sagged in relief, but Harri wasn't finished.

"That doesn't mean I'll ever trust Dumbledore," Harri added, her voice hardening like steel drawn across a whetstone. "Not this one, not any version of him. You don't understand — you can't. My Dumbledore raised me like cattle. Like a bloody pig for slaughter, fattened on love and loyalty until the day he sent me to die. And when I came back, his spirit still expected me to play the obedient little weapon. He never once saw me as a person."

Hermione swallowed but didn't argue.

"So if you want to talk to him," Harri continued, eyes locked on her friend's, "do it. I'll even help set up the story — go with you to Gringotts, make sure the goblins forge the documents. But when it comes to Dumbledore?" She shook her head. "I won't meet him. I won't smile, or play nice, or give him the chance to slip past my guard. I've already given that man one lifetime. He won't get another."

The silence that followed was thick. Tom babbled to himself on the floor, oblivious, while Teddy stirred faintly in his sleep.

Finally, Hermione nodded. Slowly, solemnly. "All right. I'll handle Dumbledore. You won't have to speak to him."

Harri exhaled, the tension she hadn't realized she was carrying bleeding out of her shoulders.

"Good," she said. "Then sometime this month, we start with Gringotts. The goblins will want something in exchange for falsifying documents — blood, hair, coin, something. I'll handle it. Once we've got our cover story, we'll go to the Ministry to register as if we belong here. After that, you can have your meeting with Dumbledore. But me?" Her jaw tightened. "I'll keep my distance."

Hermione hesitated, but this time she didn't argue. "Deal."

Harri leaned back into the settee, pulling Teddy a little closer to her chest. The infant sighed in his sleep, and Tom abandoned his blocks to toddle over and press himself against her side.

Saturday came and went, the days falling into a strange sort of routine. Neither Harri nor Tommy spoke of her meltdown in London, or the Dementor, or the fact that she was something out of myth— a witch in the flesh, not just a fireside story told to frighten children into obedience. Instead, something else happened, something quieter: Tommy simply became a fixture.

Every day since London, Tommy picked her up every morning for work, his car rumbling quietly at the curb, and he brought her home every evening without fail. If she needed to shop at the market on her days off, he was leaning against a wall or cart while she haggled over bread and meat, silent but watchful then he would carry the heavier sacks and mutter about prices being a racket. Sometimes the stall and shop owners would give her a discount and she never made a comment on how his presence with her was putting her in the Small Heath hierarchy.

On her rare days off, when she bundled Teddy in his pram and coaxed Tom into his little boots for a slow, wobbling walk to the park, Tommy fell into step beside her as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

He never announced himself. He was simply there. And it felt strangely natural that he was.

It unsettled her at first. She wasn't used to men like Thomas Shelby — men who carried storms behind their eyes but still held babies as if they were spun glass. Because that was what he did, as the days went by. When Teddy began to fuss in his pram, Tommy surprised her by crouching down, lifting the infant with a sure steadiness. He tucked Teddy against his chest with the easy familiarity of a father, one large hand bracing the baby's small head as he adjusted his own pace to the tiny weight. Teddy quieted almost immediately, tiny fists curling in Tommy's shirt.

Tom, toddling unsteadily at Harri's side, would always glance up at him with round, solemn eyes — and Tommy, without looking down, would shift his stride just enough so the boy could totter safely between them. If Tom stumbled, Tommy's hand would shoot out instinctively, catching the child's arm before he hit the ground. He never said anything about it, never smiled or cooed the way other men might, but Harri saw it — the faint softening in his jaw, the patience hidden beneath the steel.

For Tommy, it wasn't a fuss. It was duty.

And it broke something open in her chest, watching him with them. Because she couldn't remember the last time she'd had anyone there like that. Someone who noticed. Someone who stayed.

Harri let herself fall into the strange, impossible comfort of his presence.

And Tommy, it seemed, was content to do the same.

At least until a week later, when silence could no longer hold.

Chapter Text

"And then, he greeted Death as an old friend, went with him gladly, and, as equals."

- Tale of the Three Brothers

⚡️

One morning after Tommy left Harri at Charlie's Yard and then dropped the boys off with Polly, he set off to his next meeting with Campbell. He'd been watching the man for weeks now. Something was off. Campbell's eyes were too wide, pupils blown like a man on laudanum. His hands shook, and his movements were jerky and unfocused. Tommy reckoned it all started after Campbell had put his hands on Harriett. Since then, the man had been unraveling thread by thread.

Lighting a cigarette, Tommy checked the weight of his Webley before sliding it back into his coat. He followed Campbell down the street, keeping his distance until he was certain no one else would take notice. Then, quick as a whip, he grabbed the inspector by the lapels and slammed him against a stone wall, the impact echoing in the narrow lane.

Tommy snarled, voice low and sharp. "Stay the fuck away from Harriett and her sisters. You come near me woman again, I'll put a proper bullet through your skull."

Campbell didn't so much as flinch. His eyes rolled sluggishly, not even focused on Tommy. The threat didn't land. It was like talking to a man already halfway gone.

Tommy shoved him harder, then snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Oi. I'm speakin' to you, Inspector. You hear me?"

Campbell groaned. His jaw slackened. And then—Tommy swore on his life—something writhed between his lips. Not a tongue. Something else.

Before Tommy could lean in closer, a black, ghostly blur shot out of Campbell's mouth with such force it made Tommy stumble back, cigarette falling from his lips. Campbell's body went rigid, head thrown back as the thing ripped free. It screamed—a metallic shriek like steel grinding against steel—as it shot skyward, vanishing into the grey clouds above.

Campbell collapsed to the pavement like a sack of coal.

Tommy stood frozen a beat, heart hammering, before sense caught up with him. Whatever the fuck that was, it wasn't his business anymore. Not in broad daylight. Not with coppers close by.

He turned on his heel, fast, and disappeared down the nearest lane.

When the police found Chester Campbell a few hours later, he was dead.

He meant to go straight to Harri based on what he'd seen. She'd know what to make of it. But when he stepped through the back door of the house, cigarette still hanging off his lip, Tommy found something that knocked the wind clean out of him.

A cupboard door banged open, and the strangest creature he'd ever seen came barreling out. It was small, hunched, with great bat-like ears and bulging eyes. It wore a cast-iron pan like a helmet, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword.

Balanced on its bony shoulders was Tom, cape tied round his neck, laughing his little head off.

"MUGGLE FILTH!" the creature shrieked in a cracked voice. "MUGGLE FILTH IN MY WICKED MISTRESS'S HOUSE!"

"Omi!" Tom crowed, tugging the creature's ears affectionately as if this were all perfectly normal. "Hi, Omi!"

Tommy froze in the doorway, the words stuck in his throat. After what he'd seen spill out of Campbell not an hour ago, his nerves were already raw. And now here was his son, riding a monster out of the bloody kitchen cupboard like it was the most natural thing in the world.

⚡️

"Sometimes, I feel like he's sending me messages telepathically or something. Like we're meant to be together."

The girls stared at Ginny. Harri pressed her lips tight, trying not to laugh.

"I wouldn't tell anyone that again, Gin... ever," she managed.

Ginny pouted. "S'true, though! I'm sure of it! Isiah's only a year older, but I know we're meant to be. He looks at me like he knows me."

"Of course, he knows you," Hermione said gently, already smiling.

"You've been bumping uglies for months now," Harri snorted. Hermione broke into giggles, and Harri couldn't stop herself either. "Aren't you also fooling around with Esme?" Harri then asked.

Ginny went a bit pink which was a first that Harri had seen her go that shade since she first met little Ginny when she was just a first year. Interesting... Very interesting...

"We are not fooling around," Ginny scoffed though it fell flat. "I am perfectly happy with Isiah!"

Harri and Hermione did not look convinced. Luna, of course, looked dreamily confused. Ginny, however, stomped her foot like a child. "Is no one listening to me?"

"I'm listening—" Luna began serenely.

"Yeah, whatever," Ginny waved her off with a huff. "I meant no one's listening who actually understands!"

"Oi!" Harri shot to her feet, voice sharp. "Don't speak to Luna like that, Ginny!"

"What?" Ginny gaped. "We all know she doesn't understand—"

"Sex?" Luna blinked.

Three heads whipped around in unison. Harri, Hermione, and Ginny all stared at Luna as if she'd sprouted antlers. Luna only looked innocent, as ever. Too innocent for the word that had just slipped past her lips.

"Esme told me about it," Luna said calmly. She wasn't blushing— Luna never blushed. Well, except for that one time Arthur Shelby had brought her wildflowers and invited her bug-hunting. That had been different. He was very sweet.

"Esme did what now?" Hermione demanded, frowning. "Luna, if you had any questions, you could have come to us. You didn't have to go to Esme."

"Why?" Luna tilted her head, pale eyes unblinking. "You've never had sex before."

Hermione's face went crimson instantly. She shifted in her seat, squirming under the blunt observation. Even Harri looked away, ears burning.

"And Ginny," Luna added mildly, "isn't very informative when it comes to words. She's not a verbose person. Her vocabulary is rather limited when it matters."

"Hey..." Ginny muttered, sulking.

"MISTRESSSSSS!" Kreature wailed.

"What is wrong with him now!" Harri snapped back.

They'd been trying to have a night of peace in the spare room—or "the lair," as Ginny insisted on calling it. This was all Hermione's idea, of course. A distraction from their looming Grindelwald hunt. Harri had left work early, scooped her boys from Polly, and came home. Ginny was still jobless with the pub shut down, Luna was thriving with her tea/seer shop, and Hermione was hanging onto her bookshop job by a thread while planning their chase of the dark lord across America. Harri, however, wanted none of it but Ginny had been doing a stellar job keeping her distracted with stupid Weasley antics.

Kreature had been left in charge of Tom while Teddy was napping in the bedroom. It was almost the full moon and the poor little guy had been sleeping more as it loomed closer. He was always so exhausted. Harri had put up a silencing charm that was supposed to hold unless the elf was in true distress. Clearly, he was in one of his "episodes."

"Mistress vile and cruel! Your muggle bitch is in our home!"

"What did he just say?" Hermione blinked.

"My wot?" Harri stumbled to her feet, tripping over discarded shoes.

"STAY BACK!" Kreature shrieked. "Mistress will let me string yous up by your toesies and whip you with the ancient torture chains of the Most Noble House of Black!"

"Kreature?" Harri barked. "Who the ruddy hell are you talking to?"

"Blue eyes!"

Harri turned the corner and froze. Tommy sat bound to a chair, heavy chains snaked around him, knives hovering inches from his head. He looked utterly deadpan. His eyes slid from the deranged elf to Harri.

"What the fuck is that thing?" he asked flatly, as though he weren't seconds away from being skewered.

"Morgana's tits," Harri groaned. "Kreature, release him this instant!"

"Mistress—"

"NOW, you little shite! And then go bang your head into a wall four times!"

Kreature squealed with joy. "Oh!! Mistress is terrible! How Kreature loves his Dark Lady Mistress!" And with a pop, he vanished—chains and knives with him.

Tommy stayed slouched, brushing himself off. Little Tom crawled over, freed from where the elf had tied him to his blanket.

"That's a house-elf," Harri explained, pinching her nose. "Disturbing fondness for violence. Belonged to my godfather's family. I inherited him."

Tommy rose, dusting his suit. "You ordered him to hurt himself?"

"He gets off on it," Harri deadpanned.

He reached for a cigarette, but paused when Tom tugged at his trousers.

"Uppies? Omi give me uppies?"

"Sure, kid." Tommy scooped him up with practiced ease.

From the kitchen, Ginny called, "Why is Kreature bashing his head on the cupboards—oh. Hello, Tommy."

"Meet my muggle bitch," Harri grinned wickedly, waving at him.

Hermione's stare could've cut steel. "Of course. You really need to get control of this whole magic-exposure-to-muggles problem."

Harri just smiled sheepishly.

"Can I have a word alone with Harri?" Tommy asked, settling on the sofa with Tom in his arms. The boy was turning Tommy's gold pinky ring, tracing the engraved S over and over.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look, then left. Outside, Kreature's delighted wails echoed— "So gracious is she! So wicked and gracious!"

Harri winced. "He's... not right in the head."

Tommy arched a brow, gesturing for her to sit. She did— close enough for their knees to touch. He took her hand. She didn't pull away.

He figured ripping off the plaster was better than dragging it out.

"Campbell's dead."

Harri's beautiful, deadly, acidic green eyes widened in shock.

"How?" Her voice was sharper than intended, brittle at the edges.

Tommy shifted his jaw, thumb brushing idly across the boy's small hand on his ring. "Black thing came out of his mouth. Slithered out like smoke. It wasn't natural smoke. It was shaped like a man. I ran off as soon as he dropped to the ground."

Harri's throat worked. She swallowed, though it felt like swallowing glass. The air in the room turned heavier, the shadows colder. Because she knew. She knew. Being the Master of Death wasn't just a title that weighed like chains on her shoulders—sometimes it was an absence. And lately, she hadn't felt... whole. Not entirely.

Pieces missing. Cracks spiderwebbing inside her ribcage. Ever since Campbell arrested her she had left the police station not feeling entirely right.

She stared past Tommy, unblinking, to the far wall, where nothing lingered—nothing but her understanding.

Tommy cleared his throat, watching her carefully, as though testing if she was about to snap. "You know what it was?"

Harri's fingers curled, nails digging crescents into her palms. "I... might." Her voice came out softer than she meant. A dangerous kind of soft.

Tom shifted in his lap, playing with his ring again, oblivious. Tommy kept his gaze on Harri, and for the first time he didn't see a reckless woman with sharp retorts— he saw something ancient flicker behind her eyes. Something that made his spine prickle.

⚡️

Hermione picked up her discarded history book on Grindelwald, narrowing her eyes slightly as she began to read and take notes again. She was almost finished with the finer points to send to Dumbledore, hoping to speed everything along. But Luna was starting to act strangely—stranger than usual—and that was enough to make Hermione watch with growing concern. Even Ginny had begun to pay attention.

Their head-in-the-clouds sister was currently rubbing at her temple, blue eyes glazed and far away. She swayed slightly, and with every passing second, she grew more upset, tears spilling down her pale cheeks.

"We need to go to Gringotts," she kept mumbling. "We need to go to Gringotts. Now. Now. Now..."

"Do you think she's having a vision?" Ginny asked Hermione.

Hermione wanted to scoff and call Divination hogwash, but she couldn't deny that seers were real. Harriett had been marked from birth because of a prophecy, and Luna did have an uncanny ability to know things before they happened. It had saved them more than once, whenever they listened to her strange urgencies. It was the same reason Ginny had gone after Isiah, and later pursued Esme—no matter how much chemistry there had been between the two.

A few more minutes passed before Hermione finally got up to comfort Luna. Luna leaned into her touch, blinking away the dazed look. Her face returned to its usual cheer, though her eyes lacked their familiar glint.

"What is it?" Hermione asked gently.

"Our story isn't set right," Luna frowned. "Harriett needs to fix it. Something bad happened, and she will need the protection."

"What happened?"

"...I don't... I don't know." Sometimes, Luna didn't. She once said it was like missing pages from the story in her head, gaps she couldn't fill no matter how hard she tried.

"Thomas needs your help," Luna said softly. "Hermione, you need to go with him."

"Why?" Hermione blinked.

"I can't tell you."

Oh, right—the rules. Or whatever Luna called them. She never explained why, only that Lady Fate demanded ambiguity.

"Okay," Hermione agreed at last. She needed to go to London anyway. It was better to use the owl service there—much harder to track in a crowd than in the tiny magical village nearby, where anonymity was impossible.

When Harri returned to the lair with Tommy, Hermione knew immediately that something was wrong.

"Campbell's dead," Harri said.

"That bastard who pulled his di—" Ginny began, but Hermione cut her off with a stinging hex.

"OUCH!" Ginny yelped.

"I think I killed him," Harri whispered

Tommy put his arm around her, holding her tight against his chest and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Tom knew something was wrong because he reached for her, no longer wanting to be held by Tommy anymore. She took him into her arms and buried her face in his curls.

"I'm sure you're not at fault," Hermione told her softly. "And he deserved it, so don't feel guilty, Harri."

"Who are you?" Ginny asked in wonder.

"Anyone who hurts people like that," Hermione spat. "Doesn't deserve my sympathy."

"True," Ginny admitted with a nod.

"It was Death," Luna said dreamily.

"We know that," Ginny told her.

"No." Luna shook her head. "Death." She pointed to where Harri kept the Elder Wand strapped to her arm.

As usual, Hermione understood first.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "I thought that was just a title to make it sound cool!"

"Cool?" Tommy blinked in confusion. "How can a title be cold?"

"Rad!" Hermione amended quickly. "Bees-knees, whatever it is you say these days."

"Ah." Tommy looked down at Harri. "I need more information."

She wouldn't meet his eyes. Her face was hidden in Tom's curls, but Hermione could see the way her shoulders shook—silent, uneven, a trembling that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the hollow ache of truth finally pressing through.

Hermione's heart twisted. No wonder Harri had looked so ghostly when she walked in. "Harri," she whispered, stepping closer, her tone urgent but gentle. "You don't have to do this alone. We're not letting you disappear into something dark, do you hear me?"

Finally, Harri raised her head, eyes wet, hollow, but burning. "I don't get to choose, Hermione. I never do."

Tommy's jaw clenched. He cupped the back of her head, his thumb brushing her temple.

Luna smiled faintly, that strange, wistful kind of smile that meant she knew more than she could say.

Harri pulled the Elder Wand out from under her sleeve and held it up to Tommy so he could see it. "This is one of the Deathly Hallows—"

"Wait!" Hermione was already scrambling for the bookshelf. "I've got my Tales of Beedle the Bard here! Ah—ha!" She tugged the worn little book free, thumbing frantically through the pages as she made her way back. "Sit down—it makes more sense if you hear the story first."

Tommy let Harri tug him down onto the two-seater. He was more than a little surprised—and more than a little pleased—when she curled up beside him without hesitation, tucking herself into his side, leaning against his shoulder, and slipping her hand into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Tom clambered up onto his lap, dragging the blanket from the armrest and throwing it across all three of them.

"Auntie Mimi read stworie," he demanded.

Hermione smiled softly at him and opened the book.

"There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river, too deep to wade through, and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across when their path was blocked by a hooded figure. It was Death. He was angry that he had been cheated of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the brothers on their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for being clever enough to evade him."

Tommy lit a cigarette slowly, leaning forward just enough to listen more closely, eyes flicking between Hermione and the wand in Harri's hand.

"So, the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence. A wand that would always win battles for its owner. A wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death.

So, Death crossed to an elder tree growing on the banks of the river, broke off a branch, and fashioned it into a wand, which he gave to the oldest brother."

Tommy's gaze lingered on Harri's wand again, understanding dawning across his face. He'd thought it was just a story.

"Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided he wanted to humiliate Death further. He asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, telling him the stone would have the power to summon the dead."

Harri's hand drifted to the ring on her left index finger, its gold band set with a dark, round stone. She turned the stone absently from left to right, her thumb brushing over it again and again. Tommy noticed—but she never once twisted the band. She didn't spin it. Didn't dare.

As if she were afraid of what might happen if she did.

"Finally, Death turned to the third brother. A humble man, he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And so it was that Death reluctantly handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.

"In due course, the brothers separated, each for his own destination. The first brother travelled for a week or more, and, reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard, with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted of the powerful wand which he had snatched from Death himself and of how it made him invincible. That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay wine-sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand, and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. And so, Death took the first brother for his own.

"Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here, he took out the stone which had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him."

Tommy stared hard at the ring now.

"Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as though by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad by hopeless longing, killed himself, so as to truly join her. And so, Death took the second brother for his own.

"But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility, and gave it to his son. And then, he greeted Death as an old friend, went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life."

Harri swallowed. "It is said that the witch or wizard who possesses all three Hallows becomes the Master of Death."

"And you have all three?" Tommy's voice was low, but he already knew the answer.

"Yes," Harri admitted, her voice pained.

"Strange things have been happening ever since she won the allegiance of the Elder Wand," Hermione supplied quickly, as if to spare Harri further confession. "Her powers are stronger. She can do things she never could before—master skills that once took her years. And whenever she's upset or angry, her magic turns... cold. Cold like—"

"Feels like death," Ginny finished with a shudder.

"It is death," Luna insisted. "Daddy told me all about it."

Around her neck gleamed a silver chain, a curious triangular symbol dangling from it. She held it up proudly. "The mark of the Hallows. And it burned into Harri's wrist. Look."

Tommy reached for the hand Harri offered him, taking her right wrist in his calloused grip. It wasn't an ordinary burn, nor a tattoo. It looked like a birthmark—faintly white, blending into her skin, almost invisible until pointed out. Subtle, but permanent. He wondered how he had missed it before.

But in studying it, another scar caught his eye. The words were carved deep, old but unyielding: I must not tell lies.

"I must not tell lies..." Tommy read aloud, his brow furrowing.

Harri jerked her hand back as though burned, her green eyes flashing dangerously.

The other girls shifted uneasily, like people at a table where someone had just drawn a knife.

"We don't speak of it," Hermione said softly, a warning wrapped in pity.

Tommy didn't press. Not yet. He was a patient man. He would wait for Harri to open the door herself. Clearing his throat, he drew on his cigarette. Smoke curled between them, masking the sharp edge of his curiosity. "So. Death, eh? You think the bastard sent one of his own to kill Campbell?"

Tommy never had much faith in God—or gods, for that matter. But he believed in death, the great equalizer. What he hadn't expected was that Death might not be a force of nature, but a thing. A god. A hand that could reach into their world and pluck a life away. It explained the unease he sometimes felt around Harriett—the way her presence chilled the room, the faint scent she carried when her temper rose, something cloying and floral, like flowers left too long on a grave.

"Mistress of Death," Luna said dreamily. "Her magic has been different ever since she killed the Dark Lord."

"Luna!" Harri shot up, wild curls flying, the air around her crackling as though she carried a storm in her skin. Tommy almost forgot himself watching her; the static raised the hairs on his arms, tingled along his fingertips.

Hermione and Ginny both looked stricken, caught between embarrassment and fear.

"What?" Luna blinked, oblivious.

"Dark Lord?" Tommy licked his lips, already tasting the tension.

"We are not discussing Voldemort," Harri snapped, her voice sharp as a knife. "Not now. Not fucking ever."

"Mm." Tommy hummed, smoke trailing from his mouth as he studied her. His eyes slid to Hermione. "Harriett tells me you're the political one of the group."

Hermione blinked. "...Yes?"

"I need a favor."

Her eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. "What kind of favor?"

"Nothing too bad." He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

⚡

Ginny had excitedly shouted in victory when she got the fire going in the dining room. She had a bet with Luna that she could get one going without her wand. Tommy had watched all this with interest while Hermione bustled about with dishes charmed to steam and shine. He was taking magic rather well, a bit too well if Harri was being honest with herself.

She was waiting for him to have a mental crisis but it didn't seem like that was coming anytime soon. He must be more Roma than she thought.

"Sit, Mr. Shelby," Hermione said firmly, gesturing toward the long table. "You'll stay for supper. You can hardly discuss matters of business with us on an empty stomach."

Thomas Shelby gave her a slow, considering nod before lowering himself into the chair at the head of the table, as if he belonged there. His sharp blue eyes swept over the plates, the flicker of candlelight against old wood, the faint smell of dust, and something sharp and salty that clung to every corner. Now what he was aware of magic — the girls didn't stop it. There was a broom currently doing the sweeping by itself and a feather duster at work against the bookshelves from what he could see in another room through the doorway.

He lit a cigarette despite Hermione's pointed look as he thought about how Polly would perhaps give an arm at the idea of something doing all the cleaning for her.

From the corner, Kreacher appeared with a pop, tray in hand, scowling so deeply his wrinkles seemed carved in stone. He slammed down a dish of roasted chicken and muttered, "My Mistress's house defiled, darkened by filth... witches and wizards dining with filthy Muggles, filthy outsiders, unworthy of Mistress Black's silver..."

"Kreacher," Hermione hissed. "Enough."

The elf ignored her. His bulbous eyes landed on Harri, who had taken the seat to Tommy's right, and his lips curled. "Shameful girl, consorting with filth from the streets, from filth-blooded gangs. My dark lady Mistress, lowering herself like a common whore—"

"Kreacher!" Hermione's voice cracked.

Harri smiled at Kreacher though her jaw was a bit tight. But Tommy — Tommy leaned back in his chair and smirked around his cigarette, the picture of amusement.

"Suppose this is the welcome you give all your guests?" he drawled, smoke curling from his lips.

"Kreacher doesn't mean—" Hermione started desperately.

"Oh, he means it," Harri cut in, voice sharp as glass. She turned her gaze on her elf, green eyes blazing. "Say another word, and I'll see how far I can punt you down Knockturn Alley."

Kreacher recoiled with a hiss, clutching his tray like a shield. But he didn't leave. He stayed, muttering under his breath about shame, disgrace, and unworthy masters. Then he grinned at her and shuffled closer. "Kreacher would like to see his Mistress try... Kreacher will just have to do some more cleaning."

Harri narrowed her eyes. "You already do a shoddy job at cleaning, you little bastard."

Kreacher just smiled.

Tommy's smirk widened. "I like him."

Ginny snapped her head toward him, incredulous. "You like him? He was insulting you! And Harri!"

"He always insults me," Harri said. "He tries so hard for me to punish him. The kinky little shite."

"Man speaks his mind." Tommy tapped ash into the crystal bowl on the tray Kreacher held, deliberately careless. "Don't give a fuck if it's polite or not. Reminds me of Arthur."

Hermione gasped. "Mr. Shelby!"

But Harri choked on a laugh despite herself. Kreacher, spluttering with outrage, vanished with another loud pop, taking the ashtray with him.

"Bloody hell," Harri muttered, pressing her hand over her mouth. "You've just made an enemy for life comparing him to a muggle."

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of his plate, utterly unconcerned. His eyes gleamed, catching hers. "Wouldn't be the first."

Hermione groaned into her napkin.

When dinner was over, the girls went off to do their own thing leaving Harri alone with Tommy. Hermione took Tom and Teddy to her room to give Harri and Tommy some much-needed "privacy"

Tommy was looking out on the balcony of Harri's room, smoking as usual. Harri was beginning to believe his lungs must be blacker than hell with how much he smokes. He was scanning the blackened sky as if searching for an answer it would never give. Below, Small Heath breathed in its restless rhythm — men staggering home from pubs, women pulling children inside, dogs barking at nothing.

Behind him, Harri leaned against the doorframe, she had let her blood red curls down from their pins and it felt like heaven but her own gaze was weary. They needed to have a serious discussion about magic. About whatever was going on between them too. Harri didn't want to confuse her boys with Thomas Shelby if he was just messing them around only to disappear on them later.

"You look like you're planning the bloody revolution," she murmured, voice low and teasing, though her words held weight.

Tommy turned his head slightly, exhaling smoke. "Already planned it. Just waiting for the right time to strike."

She arched a brow. "And what's the revolution this time?"

He turned fully, blue eyes pinning her in place. "You."

The air went still. Harri blinked. "Me?"

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, the kind of prowl that always made men shrink back and women hold their breath.

Thomas Shelby didn't waste words; when he spoke, they cut sharply.

"I want you, Harriett. Not for a night. Not for some fleeting thing." His voice was steady, gravel threaded with iron. "I want you to be my woman. I'm not asking this lightly. This is the real deal for me."

Harri's lips parted, and for once in her life, no words came quick. She stared at him, floored, her courage wrestling with the sly caution that years of war and betrayal had drilled into her. She'd been more Slytherin than Gryffindor since the war. She didn't think she had much courage left in her, honestly.

"You're mad," she finally whispered, though her voice betrayed the flutter in her chest.

Tommy's mouth curved, just barely. "Maybe. But I know what I want. And when a Shelby wants something—" He flicked his cigarette into the dark and crushed it under his boot. "—he takes it."

Her heart thundered in her ribs. This was Thomas Shelby, the man who built an empire out of blood and smoke, asking — no, declaring — something that left her stripped of all defenses.

"You don't even know half of what I am," she said hoarsely, stepping forward despite herself. "You've seen bits, pieces, but you don't know the whole of me. What I've done. What I carry."

Tommy's eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade. He reached out, fingers catching her wrist — the one branded with the Hallows mark — and lifted it so the moonlight caught the pale scar. Then he trailed his fingers down the side of her face that carried those scars like lightning had struck her. He couldn't get over how beautiful she was.

"I don't need to know everything," he said quietly, fiercely. "I only need to know that when I put my life in your hands, you won't let me fall. And you won't. I know you won't. You're not like... Like Grace.."

Harri's throat tightened. She knew who Grace was. She had been inside his head enough to know. Also, she heard enough from Polly to know just how badly Grace destroyed Tommy. "You sound very sure of yourself," she said softly.

"I am. Because you're already mine."

The words landed sharply. She shoved him back lightly, chin tilted, eyes blazing. "You don't get to decide that for me."

Tommy smirked, but it wasn't cruel — it was hungry. "Then decide it yourself, eh? Right here. Right now."

The silence stretched, the night holding its breath around them. And then Harri laughed — it was a short, incredulous sound.

"Bloody hell, Tommy," she said, shaking her head, "you just don't play fair, do you?"

"No," he agreed, stepping into her space again, his voice a low promise against her ear. "But I always win."

And before her nerves could catch up with her courage, Harri's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss that was nothing short of defiance and surrender all at once.

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."

Chapter Text

"In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity."

— Albert Einstein

⚡️

"Harri!" Hermione stormed into the room, curls frizzing from static and stress. Harri was already awake, perched on the edge of her bed, breathing hard, hands shaking as she fought against the demons clawing at her mind. She had been awake for hours, staring into the darkness, already knowing what the morning would bring.

"Harri, come on. We're all fine— but Luna isn't."

"I know," Harri whispered, pressing her forehead into her palm, voice ragged with exhaustion. "None of us are, Mione. Not really."

Hermione crouched in front of her, hands hovering just shy of Harri's knees, afraid to touch her and break her. "Harri, Luna needs us." Her voice cracked, tight with urgency.

And Luna was indeed falling apart.

Another panic attack had taken hold of her, wild and unrelenting. Memories from her visions twisted her night into a spiral of fear and confusion, her cries echoing through the apartment until everyone was awake. By the time dawn threatened the horizon, Luna was still in crisis. Ginny had to pin her down, using the strength she'd honed from Quidditch to anchor Luna's trembling form while Harri traced protective wards around her body, containing the wild magical residue that sparked and hissed with her terror. Hermione forced a calming draught between Luna's lips, hand firm against her jaw to make her swallow despite every protest.

Luna screamed.

It was gut-wrenching— watching the bright, whimsical girl they all loved so dearly become a creature of raw, unfiltered panic, torn apart by glimpses of horrors only she could see. Her wide eyes were vacant and glassy, as if she were caught between this world and another, her voice breaking with words that made no sense to anyone but her.

"We have to go!" Luna sobbed, thrashing against Ginny's hold. "We have to go to Gringotts! It can't wait any longer! Please—you don't understand, they'll come for us!"

Despite the careful plans they had laid, despite every thought of secrecy and safety, there was no choice. Luna's terror was too consuming to ignore, her vision too sharp to dismiss. They followed her.

By five in the morning, Harri, Hermione, and Ginny trailed behind Luna, half-carrying her as she practically dragged them through the still-shadowed streets of Diagon Alley. Ginny muttered darkly under her breath about the "arse crack of dawn," but her sarcasm rang hollow, even to her own ears. Luna didn't respond. She continued to panic, stumbling forward until they reached the marble steps of Gringotts.

The goblins opened the great bronze doors without a word.

Inside, the grandeur of the bank pressed down on them like a judgment. The chandeliers dripped with gold and crystal, but the glittering light couldn't disguise the way every goblin turned their gaze on Harri as she crossed the threshold. Their dark eyes glittered with something unreadable—recognition, calculation, reverence, and into something sharper.

Their lips curled into sharp, knowing smiles that made her spine tingle. She had never been met with anything like this, and it unnerved her completely.

Goblin Warwick approached with a bow so shallow it was more mockery than respect. "Húsfreyja Dauði," he said before Harri could even give her name. Mistress Death.

Even Hermione flinched. Poor Ginny went unnervingly quiet, her voice lost for the next four hours of what became a harrowing visit. Four hours in the bank, every second echoing the weight of their new reality. That's how long their sudden visit to the Wizarding bank took. Four bloody hours. They never planned to set foot in the Wizarding World again. But Luna's insistence had been right— it was necessary.

The visit changed everything.

Harri was no longer a Potter.

Documents she thought unnecessary suddenly became vital. When asked to submit a blood test to confirm her identity, the results came back startling: she wasn't a Potter at all. She was Lady Peverell, the rightful heir to an ancient and noble house long thought extinguished. The resurrection stone, one of the Deathly Hallows, pulsed faintly in her palm. The moment she had slid the ring onto her index finger had been the start. She had become Lady Peverell.

The goblins bent their heads in grim acknowledgment to her when she presented the ring.

Magic had a way of making lineage undeniable, and Harri's blood proved her worthiness. Why? Because she had reclaimed all three Hallows.

The goblins explained the legacy of House Peverell: once, it had been a modest golden band with a bloodstone, their emblem a wand. But after the three brothers outwitted Death, everything changed. The Deathly Hallows became their mark, a permanent testament to triumph over the divine. Their name had been whispered, cursed, hunted, until it vanished... Until now.

During this visit, Harri formally blood-adopted Tom and extended her house membership to Hermione, Ginny, and Luna. Yet only Harri, Tom, and Teddy carried the Peverell name. Hermione insisted on hyphenating it with Granger, which would make sense since she already established herself as Granger. Ginny, too, preferred the cover of her own bloodline, especially since their tangled narrative required her to be Hermione's half-sister through her mother's side. Luna refused outright, clutching at Lovegood with stubborn ferocity, her pale fingers gripping the parchment as if it were a lifeline.

Hours slipped away in the Bank, arranging new documents to register them at the Ministry under a carefully fabricated story: all four had been homeschooled by Harri's mother and a close friend of the Lovegood family in Canada, hiding the existence of the Peverells after Ignotaus's death. It was easy enough to claim Ignotaus had a son. Cadmus and Antioch, the goblins said with sharp-toothed grins, had been men of plenty. In other words, whores. The kind who left bastards scattered like breadcrumbs across Europe. Nobody living would remember. Nobody could dispute.

It was a delicate lie, but convincing.

The relief, however, was brief.

As they exited the bank, Harri's magical signature had already been traced by an Unspeakable. Before she could even reach for her wand, Ministry officials appeared on the gleaming marble steps, hands raised in cold precision.

Harri Potter—the Girl Who Lived, the Chosen One, Lady Peverell, Mistress Death— was arrested on the spot.

She realized, in that moment, that reclaiming the Peverell legacy meant the world would never treat her the same way again. And to think she had once thought being the Girl Who Lived was a bloody nightmare.

⚡️

The room stank of ink, damp parchment, and stale tobacco. A single lamp hung above the table, its light harsh and yellow, throwing shadows across Harriett's pale face. The iron chair screeched across the stone floor as Harri was shoved into it. The chains clinked when Auror Hayes fastened them around her wrists, perhaps a little too tightly.

Auror Hayes tapped the quill against the file in front of him. His jaw worked, sharp as a bulldog's.

"Name?" Hayes barked.

Harri arched an eyebrow. "You already know my name. Otherwise, you wouldn't have dragged me here."

"Say it for the record."

Her lips thinned. "Harriett Lily Peverell."

"Lies!" Hayes corrected smugly, tapping his quill. "You are a Potter. Also a whore with two bastard sons and a Troublemaker. You think your little alias fools anyone?"

Harri's green eyes cut sharp as glass. "I think you're wasting parchment."

Hayes slammed his palm flat on the desk, leaning in. "Do you know a Chester Campbell?"

Harri's jaw worked. She was so tired. So bloody tired of bull-shite that was under ridiculous pretenses. This bastard was causing her problems again.

She rolled her eyes skyward. "We're starting with that, are we?" Her voice was clipped, aristocratic with a Midlands edge. "Yes. I met him once."

Hayes leaned forward, spittle on his lip. "Are you aware he's dead?"

"I don't much care if he is," Harriett said flatly. "Can you spit it out and stop wasting my time? You dragged me in on trumped-up charges, ripped my eldest from my arms, terrified my sons—" her voice cracked with anger, then sharpened into a blade—"and now you sit there asking daft questions about some bastard who harassed women for sport? Chester Campbell was a bloody prick with a hard-on for intimidation."

The Auror blanched at her bluntness, sneering in disgust. "Watch your tongue, girl. You're not on a soapbox in Birmingham."

Her lips curved into something like a smile, though her green eyes glittered with venom. "Funny thing—you don't like a woman speaking plain. Campbell didn't either. Men like that usually end up dead."

The quill snapped in Hayes's hand. "Mind your tongue!" he barked.

"That's rich," Harri fired back. "Considering you lot don't mind using yours to lick boots."

He then leaned back in his chair with all the smugness of a man who thought himself clever. "I think you killed him," He said. "You don't show an ounce of remorse for his poor grieving family."

"You want me to show remorse?" Harri drawled, lips twisting into a smirk. "For something, I did not do? Well... I'll be sure to send flowers to the wake. You want me to knit a bloody wreath too?"

Hayes's nostrils flared. "I repeat, mind your tone."

"I would," Harri shot back sweetly, "if you'd mind asking questions that weren't beneath the intelligence of a kneazle."

"You seem remarkably unconcerned with the death of a man you were known to... quarrel with."

"He was a bastard with a badge and an unhealthy hobby of harassing women," Harri said, voice crisp as cut glass. "You want me to weep? Sorry, I must've left my handkerchief in the other set of irons you dragged me in with."

Hayes sneered. "That's enough out of you, witch."

Harri tilted her head, the Potter arrogance settling like a cloak across her shoulders. "That's the best you can manage? 'Witch'? Come now, Hayes, if you're going to insult me at least be creative. You've the entire English language at your disposal and you settle on that?"

The Auror's face colored, blotchy red creeping up his neck. He slammed a hand flat on the table. "Don't think your family name will protect you here. You've got Campbell's blood on your hands. We can taste it in the magic!"

Harri leaned forward, lips curling. "If you can taste magic, perhaps you ought to see a Healer. That's not normal."

The corner of her mouth twitched as his scowl deepened. She sat back again, hands folded neatly on the table. "But by all means, continue grasping at straws, Auror. You've already stolen my children's peace for the night — might as well waste my time too."

Hayes flipped a page in his file with exaggerated slowness, like a man savoring the kill. "You've got two boys, don't you? Thomas and Theodore, if I'm not mistaken."

Harriett's spine went taut, but her expression remained bored, almost amused. "Well done, Auror. You can read. Shall we clap for you, or is that too distracting while you polish your badge?"

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "It'd be a shame if something happened to them. Accidents do happen, especially in this city. Carriages overturn, fires start, children wander off..." He let the words hang, like baited hooks.

Harriett didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her head and gave a slow, sly smile. "Do you know what the difference is between you and me, Hayes? When you threaten children, you're bluffing. When I threaten a man's family..." She leaned forward, green eyes gleaming, "...I've already dug the grave."

His jaw clenched, but he tried to sneer it off. "Big words for a witch under Ministry suspicion. You don't frighten me."

Harriett chuckled low, dangerous, and entirely too casual. "Oh, darling. I'd be devastated if you were frightened. I prefer my enemies to underestimate me — it makes their funerals so much easier to plan."

Hayes's second quill snapped between his fingers. "You don't seem to understand. One word from me and your children vanish into thin air."

She arched a brow, pure Slytherin queen. "One word from me, and your tongue vanishes from your mouth. We all have our little talents."

There was a long silence. He tried to stare her down, but she didn't blink. Didn't even breathe wrong. Finally, he shifted, muttering, "Reckless woman."

"Reckless?" she echoed with a dry laugh. "No. Brave is reckless. Gryffindors are reckless. I am calculating. I am patient. And I will never —" her voice dropped to a velvet whisper, sharp as a knife — "ever let you lay a hand on what's mine."

Hayes swallowed, but covered it with a scoff. "You sound like a gangster, Peverell. Like one of those Shelby men you run around with. Ah... you see we done our research before we arrested you."

Harriett leaned back in her chair, a smirk playing at her lips.

Before the tension could snap into something worse, the door creaked open.

A young man strode in, his robe collar starched, his expression calm but firm. Harriett's sharp gaze flicked to the badge on his chest: Head Auror. He was far too young for it, in her opinion. Yet his presence silenced Hayes at once.

"That's enough, Hayes."

"Theseus—" Hayes began.

"Head Auror Scamander," the man corrected smoothly. His voice held steel despite the polite tone. "We are not knocking back cups in a pub, Auror Hayes. Out."

Hayes scowled, but the authority in Scamander's tone left no room. He scraped back his chair and stalked out, muttering under his breath. He shot Harri one last look as if he could hex her where she sat. The door clicked behind him.

Theseus shut the file, placed it gently on the table, and sat across from Harriett. His smile was polite, almost apologetic. "I apologize for Auror Hayes's... unorthodox method."

"He was a total prick," Harri replied flatly. "I've never seen such negligence from an Auror. My sons terrified. My sisters and cousin were harassed. If I file a report of negligence and abuse of power, I trust you'll sign it."

He winced but inclined his head. "I'll see to it personally. Consider the report already written." He shifted under her unwavering stare, cleared his throat, and lifted his quill. "Please, for the record—state your full name."

"Lady Harriett Lily Peverell."

The name dropped like a stone into the silence. Scamander jolted, his quill slipping against the parchment. His eyes widened, as if he hadn't heard correctly. The Peverell name had not been spoken in Ministry halls in generations at least not openly.

"Lady... Peverell." He licked his lips, visibly rattled, though he tried to maintain formality. "You were arrested under the alleged murder of a squib named Chester Campbell."

Harri's brow arched. A squib? She hid her surprise. "Is that so."

"His death was... peculiar. Magical traces found at the scene. They matched your magical signature."

"That's odd," Harri said with unnerving calm. She didn't blink.

Scamander narrowed his eyes. "You were arrested by Mr. Campbell only weeks before his death."

"I was," Harri admitted easily. "It was an abuse of power. He thought I could be used against someone he had a grievance with. He was wrong."

Before Scamander could press further, the interrogation room door banged open.

"You will release her at once!" A booming voice cut through the air. An older wizard, the black robe he wore bore the unmistakable crest of high office. His voice shook with indignation. He stormed in with all his silver hair, ruddy face, and righteous fury. "Lady Peverell will answer no more questions! This entire interrogation is a disgrace. I am appalled. To lay chains on her—" his voice cracked with fury. "I'll not tolerate it!"

Scamander rose. "Minister Evermonde—"

Harri blinked. The bloody Prime Minister.

"You forget yourself, Scamander," Evermonde cut sharply. "I hold authority here, and I will not see an ancient House maligned under my watch. Release her immediately, or you may consider your post vacant."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Scamander's jaw tightened, his eyes flicked between Harri and Evermonde, calculating, but silent. He then inclined his head, his voice was all false politeness. "Well, Lady Peverell, after careful consideration... You are free to go."

Harriett gave him a slow, cold smile. "What a relief. I was worried I might actually have to stay and listen to you drone on."

The chains dissolved at a snap of Evermonde's wand. Harriett rose slowly, the faintest tilt of a smirk on her lips. "Gentlemen. The pleasure has been all mine."

She swept out with her chin high, Narcissa Malfoy's perfect disdain in every step. Only when the door shut behind her did her stride falter for half a beat, her knees quaking with the sudden release of tension. She steadied herself, exhaling.

Inside the room, Evermonde's low hiss carried: "Do you know what name you toy with, Scamander? Do you?"

And Theseus, pale as chalk, had no answer.

Luna had been right again—scarily right. If they hadn't gone to Gringotts and unearthed that dusty Peverell inheritance, she'd be rotting in Azkaban by now.

Harriett stormed out of the Auror Department and into the atrium. There on a bench beneath the gilded fountain sat Luna with both boys. She was sitting between them like a serene, eccentric guardian angel.

Tom spotted her first, wriggling off the bench with a squeal:

"Mummy! Mummy! Go home now?"

She caught him, heart unclenching just enough to breathe again. She pressed her face into his hair, "Yes, darling. We're going home as soon as Auntie Mione and Auntie Gin come out."

Teddy gave a plaintive "Ma—ma—ma!" and stretched sticky hands toward her. Luna passed him over with serene calm. "He bit an Auror's finger when they tried to move us along. I thought that was rather brave."

Harriett kissed Teddy's temple, breathing him in, then fixed her gaze on Luna.

"I told them you'd be fine. Interrogations are rather like boggarts — they look terrifying until you poke them with the right stick," Luna continued.

Harri managed a snort. "What did they ask you?"

"Oh, nothing," Luna said airily. "They didn't bother with me at all. Said I was as crazy as a bag of cats. Which is very rude, really. Cats are far more organized than people think. They form entire empires under the floorboards."

Tom giggled. "Kitties!"

Harri's expression hardened like glass, her voice dropped. "They interrogated Hermione. They interrogated Ginny. But they didn't even touch you because they thought you weren't worth the effort?"

Luna blinked at her, wide-eyed and unbothered. "Well, yes. I suppose that's rather useful, isn't it? That means they left me free to watch the boys."

Harriett's jaw clenched. "Useful? No, Luna. That's not useful. That's insulting." Her green eyes flared like fire under glass, her grip tightening protectively on both children. "You've stood guard over my sons while I was locked in their bloody dungeon, and they think you're—what?—too mad to matter?"

Tom's hand tugged her sleeve. "Mummy..."

She knelt to him quickly, smoothing his curls, forcing her tone calm. "I'm alright, love. I'm just... furious."

When she stood again, her fury was tempered steel. "Luna, you're worth ten of them. They can't see it because they're too blind and arrogant to look past their own rules. Though I am glad you weren't forced to answer stupid questions."

Teddy babbled nonsense against her collarbone, sensing her tension. Tom frowned and tugged her cloak. "No mad. Nice Auntie Lu."

Harri kissed the top of his head, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. She forced her voice to be soft for them. "That's right, love. Luna's the best."

The heavy doors of the Auror Department groaned open again, and Hermione and Ginny were emerging from the Auror Department doors. At first glance, relief flooded Harriett's chest — until she saw the state of them. Hermione's lip was split, her cheek mottled as if someone had struck her. Ginny bore angry red handprints across her throat, her freckles stark against the bruising. Her eyes were bloodshot, her movements slow, as if a splitting headache pounded behind her temples.

Harriett froze.

The world narrowed to a thin, hot line of rage. Her magic thrummed in the air, prickling against the walls and sending sparks across the floor. Tom whimpered, sensing it, but Harriett's grip on his little hand only tightened.

"They touched you," she hissed.

"Harri—" Hermione started, her hand fluttering up in warning.

She shoved Teddy into Luna's arms, set Tom on his feet, and was moving before anyone could stop her. "You bastards," Harri's voice was shaking with rage.

Then louder, with a snarl, she spun on her heel and stormed back through the Auror Department doors, her robes snapping behind her like a banner of war. Tom let out a squeaky "Mummy mad!" while Luna calmly ushered the boys toward safety, her gaze never leaving Harriett's back.

The Department erupted as she entered, her wand already drawn — wands twitched, parchment rustled, Aurors scrambled out of her path.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU TOUCHED MY SISTERS?!"

Heads shot up from desks. Quills froze in mid-stroke. A warded door cracked open. Harriett's voice climbed higher, sharper, rawer:

"I WILL HAVE YOUR BLOODY HANDS FOR THIS!"

Her wand slashed, sparks snapping like whips across the air. "MINISTER!" Harriett's voice cracked like a whip through the hall, reverberating off the stone walls. "Get your cowardly carcass out here now!"

She didn't wait for an answer. She strode past desks and stunned employees, stormed into the Head Auror's office, and slammed the door open with such force it ricocheted off the wall.

The Minister of Magic himself, flushed and sweating, rose from one of the chairs he had been sitting in that was in front of Scamander's desk. "L–Lady Peverell, please, I assure you—"

"You dare lay hands on my sisters?!" Harriett's wand was already drawn, its tip sparking with lethal intent. "You drag us from the street like common criminals, interrogate us like liars, and strike them like you're dealing with cattle? I am Lady Harriett Peverell, Head of my House, heir of Antioch himself, and I will see you flayed alive before I allow another hand raised against my family!"

A sharp flash went off near the door. A reporter, trembling but eager, had followed the commotion — his enchanted camera capturing the moment perfectly: Lady Peverell, wild with fury, wand pressed to the Minister's chest as he cowered and simpered.

Gasps rippled through the Auror office behind her. Scamander was completely startled, his mouth opened slightly and he sat still.

The Minister's hands shot up in surrender, his face mottled red as sweat trickled down his temple. "L–Lady Peverell, please, you must understand," he stammered, trying to keep his voice soothing, but it cracked with fear. "Protocol—standard protocol—questions must be asked of all foreign arrivals, especially those making such bold claims to extinct lines—"

Harriett slammed her palm down on his desk, rattling inkwells and scattering parchment. The wood groaned under the crackle of raw magic that poured from her fingertips.

"Protocol does not give you the right to bruise or strangle my sisters," she snarled.

Aurors in the doorway shifted uncomfortably. None dared intervene. The photographer clicked again, the camera's flash bathing the scene in white light: Lady Peverell looming over the Minister of Magic like fury incarnate.

"You dragged us in like prisoners," Harriett spat, her eyes glowing faintly. "My children were terrified. My family was assaulted. And you dare dress this up as protocol?"

The Minister wrung his hands, his voice rising to a pitiful whine. "Misunderstandings! Entirely regrettable! Those responsible will be... immediately dismissed, I assure you—"

"Dismissed?" Harriett's laugh was harsh, humorless. "You think a pink slip erases bruises on my sister's faces?" She raised her wand, the tip sparking inches from his chin. "If a single mark remains on either of them by sundown, Minister, your name will answer for it."

The Minister flinched, his knees wobbling until he half-collapsed into his chair.

"Y–yes, Lady Peverell, of course! Reparations, immediate reparations!" He looked around frantically, as if someone might save him, but no one moved. "You will have access to all family vaults—land grants, even—a formal apology from the Ministry in print if you—if you'll but lower your wand—"

Another flash went off. Harriett didn't turn her head. She knew this image would be plastered across the front page by morning: The Lost Lady Peverell forcing the Minister to beg for mercy.

Hermione's voice came faint and careful from the door. "Harri..."

Harriett froze, chest heaving, before jerking her wand back. The Minister sagged in relief, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.

But Harriett wasn't finished.

"You will hold a public session of the Wizengamot within forty-eight hours," she said, her voice deadly calm now, even more terrifying than her earlier fury. "There, you will recognize the restoration of House Peverell. I will take my seat as Head, and any who contest me may do so openly."

The Minister bobbed his head rapidly, desperate. "Yes—yes, of course, Lady Peverell."

"And," Harriett added, her eyes like chips of ice, "you will see to it that not a soul dares touch a Peverell again. Or Merlin help me, the next camera flash will be your obituary."

Click. Another photograph, perfectly timed.

Gasps rippled again. The Aurors backed away. The Minister swallowed, pale and trembling, as Harriett finally turned on her heel and stalked toward the door.

"Come, sisters," she said sharply, sweeping Hermione and Ginny into her arms like wings, her boys waiting safely behind Luna. "We are done here."

As she swept out of the Auror Department, whispers exploded in her wake. By the time she reached the atrium, the whole Ministry was buzzing with one truth:

The Peverells were back. And they bowed to no one.

Upon their return to Small Heath after all of them had been released from any questioning and Tom returned to Harriett's arms, Hermione was the only one not relieved by the turn of events that day. Rita Skeeter's biography on Dumbledore had been on the kitchen table open for Harri to see the notes Hermione had made on certain pages. Certain pages that pinpointed Grindelwald's obsession with the Peverell family.

They might have been saved from the Ministry for whatever insane magic Harri accidentally cast on Campbell that inevitably killed the man but in the end, she got nothing but a very large bullseye painted on her back. The Daily Prophet that evening had front page news announcing Harri's presence to the entirety of magical Britain.

Daily Prophet - Evening Edition

Lady Peverell Returns to Britain with Heirs!

By Scathra Greengrass, Society Correspondent

 

In a shocking revelation that has left wizarding society positively aflutter, Lady Harriett L. Peverell, daughter of the late Lord James S. Peverell of Alberta, Canada, has emerged at last, proving that the ancient House of Peverell is far from extinct. Long whispered to have vanished when its daughters married into the Potter and Gaunt families, the House returns now with a living heir — and not without scandal.

Lady Peverell, accompanied by her two young sons, Thomas Michael Peverell (aged one and a half) and Theodore "Teddy" Remus Peverell (aged nearly one), was apprehended yesterday morning by Aurors on the steps of Gringotts Bank. The arrest, made under the authority of Squib Chester Campbell of Birmingham, quickly dissolved when Head Auror Theseus Scamander himself dismissed all charges, declaring Lady Peverell's innocence.

Campbell, known for his staunch anti-wixen policies and questionable dealings in the Midlands, was found dead only hours after a late-night altercation with Lady Peverell near a Small Heath pub. Witnesses claim he attempted to unlawfully detain her using illegal restraints. What happened next remains the subject of much whispered speculation — Campbell's body was discovered in what investigators describe only as a "gruesome and unnatural state."

Scholars of old bloodlines are quick to remind us that the Peverells have long been tied to Death Magic. Indeed, it is said their bloodline carries protections so fierce that any man attempting to harm a Peverell witch risks his very life. Whether by curse, oath, or the vengeance of some spectral ancestor, Campbell's demise seems to confirm that the legends of the Peverell blood are no myth at all.

If Lady Peverell's magical protections were not dramatic enough, her family's sudden appearance in Birmingham has raised even more questions. Just two days prior, Lady Peverell was seen walking the market stalls of the Black Patch with none other than a local muggle — Thomas Shelby, head of the notorious Shelby family of Small Heath. Sources describe the man as "a doting father," carrying the younger boy on his hip while Lady Peverell fussed over a pair of overalls for her sons. The scene, by all accounts, painted a picture of domestic harmony quite at odds with her arrest only hours later.

Nor does Lady Peverell stand alone. She is joined by her so-called "sisters": Hermione J. Granger-Peverell, Ginerva M. Granger, and their cousin Luna P. Lovegood. Together, the four women have registered their alliance and household with the Ministry under the House of Peverell, cementing the return of a family once believed lost to the ages.

The Ministry confirms that Lady Harriett holds full claim as Head of House Peverell, with her son Thomas recognized as Heir Presumptive.

And what of these "sisters"? The young women, all unmarried, are said to be beauties in their own right — clever, fashionable, and certain to set society ablaze should they make their debut in the summer season. As one senior source at the Department of Magical Records slyly commented:

"To marry into House Peverell would be the closest thing to wedding into wizarding royalty. The line traces directly to Ignotus Peverell himself. I daresay the queue of eager bachelors will stretch out the Ministry's doors."

For now, Lady Peverell has returned quietly to Small Heath with her children and sisters, her reputation as both scandal and society's greatest treasure firmly cemented. Whether the Ministry, the Wizengamot, or even wizarding Britain itself is ready for the return of the Lady of Death's bloodline remains to be seen.

One thing is certain: the House of Peverell has risen, and all eyes are watching.

⚡️

The morning after, Hermione sat stiffly at the table, dark circles under her eyes, sipping tea with trembling hands. Ginny leaned on her shoulder, a cooling charm wrapped around her bruised throat.

The paper lay sprawled across the table, that damning photograph impossible to ignore.

THE DAILY PROPHET

THE PEVERELLS RETURN FROM THE DEAD!

Ancient Family Resurfaces — Lady Harriett Peverell Declares Herself Head of House

 

By Matilda Poppins, Special Correspondent

 

London was shaken to its core yesterday when four witches swept into the Ministry of Magic and declared themselves to be none other than the lost daughters of the most ancient and noble House of Peverell. Long believed extinct — with its bloodlines supposedly merging into the Potter and Gaunt families centuries ago — House Peverell has returned in the form of Lady Harriett Peverell, accompanied by her "sisters" Hermione Granger-Peverell, Ginerva Granger, and Luna Lovegood.

Sources inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement describe an "explosive scene" when Ministry officials attempted routine questioning of the women, who claim to have come to Britain from Canada.

Lady Harriett, described as a fiery witch with "uncontrollable magical energy," reportedly drew her wand on the Minister himself after her "sisters" were manhandled by Aurors. Witnesses state she "threatened to hex the Minister into an obituary" if her family was touched again.

"She made the Minister beg," one stunned clerk confessed. "I've never seen a man sweat like that in his life. The camera flashes didn't stop — it'll be the cover of every paper by sunrise."

The women departed the Ministry with their dignity intact — but whispers of fear and awe have already spread like wildfire. Is this the dawn of a new noble power?

 

WHO ARE THE PEVERELL SISTERS?

• Lady Harriett Peverell: Eldest and self-declared Head of House. Witnesses describe her as "radiating dark authority." She traveled with two young boys, presumed to be her sons.

• Hermione Granger-Peverell: Said to be the "clever sister," already compared to a scholar of ancient magic.

• Ginerva Granger-Peverell: Fierce in defense of her sisters, reportedly hexed an Auror during the altercation.

• Luna Lovegood-Peverell: The quietest of the four, but eyewitnesses swear her stare made even hardened Aurors back away.

 

The group claims to have come from Canada, though skeptics note that no record exists of Peverells emigrating to the colonies.

 

MURDER ARREST ROCKS THE RETURN

Just as the news of the lost Peverells seemed too astonishing to be true, scandal struck.

Lady Harriett was briefly arrested and questioned in connection with the mysterious death of Chester Campbell, a squib living in Small Heath, Birmingham. Campbell, known locally for his political sympathies toward Muggle extremist groups, was discovered dead under suspicious circumstances only days ago.

Eyewitnesses claim Ministry officials attempted to pin the death on Lady Harriett during today's confrontation, citing "unusual magical residue."

The Lady Peverell was later released without charge after hours of heated exchanges, but the accusation has left a stain upon the family's triumphant debut.

Was it a coincidence that a squib so deeply entangled in Muggle underworld politics perished just days before the Peverells revealed themselves? Or does this ancient family's return herald a darker agenda?

 

A NEW POWER IN WIZARDING BRITAIN?

By the time the Peverell sisters left the Ministry, whispers filled every corridor: the Lost House has returned, and it bows to no one.

The Wizengamot is expected to hold an emergency session within the week to determine the legitimacy of Lady Harriett's claim and whether House Peverell should be formally reinstated among the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

One thing is certain: whether hero, villain, or something between — the Peverells have returned, and Britain will never be the same.

 

The Prophet photograph shows Harriett in mid-roar, wand pressed to the Minister's chest as Aurors recoil, eyes wide. Tom Peverell can be seen in the background, clinging to Luna Lovegood's skirt with wide eyes, Teddy Peverell in her arms — both children present for the scene.

"Aurors Threaten Peverell's Children?" Rumors swirl that Senior Auror Albert Hayes, already under fire for alleged corruption, threatened the lives of Harriett's young sons during his interrogation with her. Sources close to Peverell say this was the "final straw" that set her temper ablaze.

 

The article's final line burns:

"Is the Ministry of Magic so desperate to silence Peverell that it has resorted to brutalizing her family? Or is she proving too dangerous to be left unchecked?"

"They've made you look unhinged," Hermione muttered, voice raw.

"They touched you," Harriett growled, pacing the kitchen like a caged beast. "They dared to lay a hand on either of you. I don't care what they print—I'll burn the bloody Ministry to the ground if they try it again."

From the corner, Luna hummed serenely as she fed Teddy mashed carrots. "It's all rather funny, really," she said dreamily. "They didn't bother interrogating me because they think I'm mad. But they're the ones who are cracked, picking fights with Peverells. Nargles in their brains, every last one."

Ginny croaked out a laugh, which immediately turned into a cough. Hermione shot Harriett a worried look. "You can't hex the Minister, Harri."

"Watch me."

Chapter Text

"It is a risk to love.
What if it doesn't work out?"

- "Ah, but what if it does?"

- Peter McWilliams

⚡️

Witch Weekly

 

WHO IS THOMAS SHELBY?

 

The Lost Lady Peverell Spotted Among Muggles!

By Selina Starling, Society Gossip

 

As if today's Ministry spectacle weren't shocking enough, the Lady Harriett Peverell was spotted only yesterday strolling through the market stalls near the notorious Black Patch in Birmingham — accompanied not by her supposed noble sisters, but by a Muggle man.

Witnesses describe the mysterious gentleman as tall, sharply dressed, and "with the kind of soldier's stare that could cut glass." He was seen carrying packages, keeping the Peverell boys close at hand, and even offering coins for sugared apples while the Lady pursued a stall that sold wares for children.

"He looked like a doting father," said one wide-eyed market vendor. "You wouldn't have known he was a Muggle the way she leaned toward him."

The man has since been identified by Prophet investigators as Thomas Shelby, a name whispered in Muggle Birmingham as the head of a powerful gang called the Peaky Blinders. Shelby, a war hero decorated for service in the Muggle Great War, is rumored to command fear and loyalty in equal measure.

 

If true, this raises troubling questions:

• Why is a Lady of Ancient and Noble blood consorting with a Muggle gangster?

• Do the Peverell children call Shelby father?

• And what business has Lady Harriett in the roughest corners of Small Heath?

Harri had never been so nervous about a dress in her life. Esme and Polly had bullied her into the shimmering gown, whispering about how a proper date deserved something more than trousers and mud-stained boots. Polly had taken her out to purchase it with Ginny and Ada in London. The fabric was soft as water beneath her fingers, shifting from champagne to pearl with every turn in the light. Too fine, too delicate. It looked more like golden seashells glimmering under the blue hues of the ocean. It was easily the nicest thing she'd worn since... well, since she could remember.

It also felt completely wrong for a day at the races.

"I don't know," Harriett said, already fighting the urge to unbutton the back and put on one of her other plain dresses. "I think it's too much for the races."

Esme grabbed her shoulder. "Don't you dare," She hissed, though there wasn't any real heat behind it. "You look beautiful!"

"Esme's right," Polly lit up one of her cigarettes, leg crossed over the other looking every bit like a woman who owned the world as she gazed at Harri. "You look good, girl. Thomas will love it. Besides, you're not Harriett Potter anymore - are you? So you've got to look better than all the rest."

Harri blanched a little at the reminder.

Not Potter. Not anymore. Now she was Harriett Peverell—Lady Peverell. A title so heavy it might as well have been carved in stone and hung around her neck. The name came with a lineage stretching back centuries, with expectations that whispered like ghosts at her ear. It wasn't a name to hide behind. It was one you carried—or it carried you.

"Now stop fussing," Polly scolded, smoke curling from her lips. "You look like a queen, girl. And Thomas Shelby's the sort of man who notices a queen."

Harri rolled her eyes, muttering, "More like a lamb led to slaughter."

Esme cackled. "If you're the lamb, love, Tommy's the butcher—don't pretend you don't like it."

Harri bit her tongue, cheeks hot. She did like it. Too much. And she hated how much.

Before she could retreat further into her thoughts, a chubby pair of hands tugged insistently at her skirts.

"Mummy," Tom's small, earnest voice piped up. He had all the stubbornness of a toddler already firmly rooted in him. He squinted up at her, curls sticking every which way, his little mouth twisting as he tried to find the right word. "Pwetty."

The single word, imperfect but perfectly heartfelt, made her throat tighten. For all the titles and legacies, it was this small voice that reminded her who she really was.

"See?" Esme cooed, scooping Teddy up from his cot. Teddy was drowsy with sleep still, his hair shifting from dark brown to a soft silvery blond as he blinked around, thumb half in his mouth. "Even the boys think so. You can't argue with that."

Polly smirked, leaning back in her chair, the glow of her cigarette tip flaring. "The little one's got sense. Knows how to flatter a woman already." She blew out a puff of smoke, eyes sharp with mischief. "Must take after his father."

That earned her a sharp look from Harri, though she knew Polly was only fishing. The Shelbys didn't have to ask, not really. They'd seen enough—the way toys sometimes floated across the room when the boys were in a tantrum, or how owls with sealed envelopes tapped at their window at dawn. They'd also read the papers. Witch Weekly, The Daily Prophet, even something called Wixen Giselle—couriered by birds instead of men.

Tommy hadn't said much about it, but Harri had caught him scanning the parchment more than once, jaw tight, blue eyes watchful. The last issue of the Prophet hadn't helped: speculation about Lady Peverell's sudden reappearance in Britain, whispers about her arrest for the death of Chester Campbell, and endless column inches about her being spotted at the Black Patch Market with "a mysterious Muggle paramour." That one had nearly made her hex the ink right off the page.

Tom tugged her skirts again, pulling her back from her spiraling thoughts. "Mummy, go?"

"Yes, love," she whispered, crouching down to kiss his curls. "Mummy's going out on a date with Tommy."

"Omi ate out Mummy?" His little face twisted up in confusion.

Polly snorted so hard she shot liquor out of her nose mid-sip, coughing and sputtering with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Harri blinked, mortified, and would swear to the high heavens her whole body went pink.

"Ahaha!" Esme didn't even bother hiding it. She was doubled over in the corner, clutching Teddy to her hip as she cackled, her shoulders shaking.

"No!" Harri spluttered, hands flapping, her voice pitching higher the more she panicked. "Date. Da... A.. T-ah!"

"Ate. Omi ate out mummy," Tom repeated, solemn as a priest, as if that settled it.

Harri covered her face, almost in tears as Esme began laughing like a hyena, Polly wheezing beside her.

"No, darling!" Harri bemoaned through her hands. "Stop saying that! Date. Da- a- t-ah!"

"Mummy no like Omi ate her out?"

That did it—Polly gave up on her drink entirely, smacking the table as she howled with laughter. Esme nearly dropped Teddy, who blinked up at the room in wide-eyed wonder as if uncertain what was so funny.

Mortified beyond repair, Harri made a strangled sound and fled, skirts swishing, ducking into the water closet as if she might lock herself away forever.

"Ah, no need to hide, love!" Polly shouted at her. "Come back out."

"No!" Harri exclaimed.

"I'm sure when Thomas does — you'll bloody like it!" Polly insisted as if that was the problem.

Harri screamed. "Oh my God, Pol!"

Polly and Esme were left in giggles. At least they sobered up a bit when Harri peeked her head out.

Tom had toddled off while she was hiding, probably window watching with Ginny who insisted on stationing herself at the main upstairs window for prime viewing when Harri's "muggle bitch" showed up.

Esme set Teddy on her hip, rocking him lightly. "Don't you worry about the babies. We've got them. You just go and enjoy yourself for once."

Easier said than done. Tomorrow Harri was expected to take her seat at an emergency Wizengamot session where magic itself would acknowledge her as head of the most ancient and most noble house. She could already hear the rustling of robes, the sneers, the endless chatter of pureblood politicking. Harriett Potter might have loved dueling dark wizards, but Harriett Peverell had no patience for gaggles of pompous lords and ladies.

Still—tonight was different. Tonight, she had been promised by Tommy Shelby a date at the races.

And Merlin help her, she was nervous.

Harri shuddered, a part of her still rather put out that Ginny had told John she was "a Lady." The git of a man hadn't wasted a moment repeating it to Polly and anyone else who'd listen. Word traveled faster in Small Heath than owl post ever could.

It was Tommy's reaction that had cost her the stable job.

"Ladies don't shovel shite," he'd said around his cigarette, tone so flat and certain that she hadn't been able to argue. "So you'll be me secretary if you really want a job."

Harri had wanted to hex him for that—or at least punch him in his maddeningly kissable face. She'd actually liked the stables, the steady rhythm of mucking out stalls, even if the smell clung to her hair. But she had to admit—no more horse waste was a relief.

Hermione, naturally, had agreed with her that becoming Thomas Shelby's secretary was a terrible idea. Something about workplace relationships and power dynamics and all the things Harri was already ignoring.

"Tommy's here!" Ginny's voice rang out from the window like a town crier, where she perched like Aunt Petunia spying on the neighbors.

Harri's mouth went dry. She began fussing with the hem of her dress again, fingers twitching at the folds of fabric. Polly smacked her hand, sharply.

"Ouch!" Harri hissed, glaring.

"You'll fuck up your dress," Polly said simply, lighting a cigarette with her usual cool detachment. Smoke curled lazily around her as she gave Harri a once-over. "You look fine. Better than fine. Now get out of the house before Thomas Shelby comes in and gets a dressing down from your sisters."

Before she could argue, Tom came toddling into the room on unsteady little legs, clutching his stuffed Kneazle toy. Harri bent low, scooping him up, her heart melting as his chubby fingers reached for her face.

"Mummy bee-tea-u-ful," Tom declared proudly, the words slightly garbled but full of earnest delight.

Harri pressed her nose to his. "Thank you, darling. Mummy's going out, but I'll be back soon, and then we'll have mummy-and-me time."

"Om wuv Mummy," he said solemnly before puckering up and planting a slobbery kiss on her cheek.

Harri laughed, squeezing him tight before setting him back down. "Be good for your Aunties."

She tossed a quick wave to everyone and hurried toward the door. Timing couldn't have been better: Tommy was just stepping up the front path.

Tommy was dressed to kill, dark suit pressed sharp, cap tilted just so. The whole street seemed to still, the sort of silence that followed him wherever he went, part awe, part fear.

Before he could even knock, Harri slid outside and hooked her arm through his. He couldn't so much as get a good look at her when she spoke, "Ginny's gearing up for a talk," she muttered under her breath. "Let's get the bloody hell out of here before she tries to give you the sex talk."

Tommy's mouth curved, the faintest tug at the corner, and then he let out a low laugh that made her stomach flip. He glanced back at the door but didn't slow, steering her toward the waiting motorcar. He glanced down at her, amused. "You lot are worse than coppers."

"Worse," Harri agreed gravely.

"Well in that case... Since you jumped the gun. Good Evening, Lady Peverell," he said, voice low and even, though the faintest curl of amusement played at the corner of his mouth.

She wanted to hex him for the title. Instead, she huffed, "Good Evening, Mr. Shelby..."

He opened the passenger door for her — gentlemanly as ever — hand brushing against her waist as he helped her inside. His touch lingered just long enough to make her pulse quicken. He waited until she was comfortably seated before he shut her door.

By the time he rounded the bonnet and slid into the driver's seat, Harri was fidgeting with her shawl again. Once inside, he took his time with his lighter, the glow flaring as he lit his cigarette. Only then did he let his gaze travel over her.

Tommy's eyes swept over her, sharp but unhurried, cataloguing every detail like he always did with people, though this time there was warmth in it. Admiration, even.

"You look beautiful," he said at last, no cigarette between his lips for once, voice low and certain as though it were fact rather than compliment.

Harri's cheeks went pink, and she ducked her head with a shy smile. "You look handsome. New suit?"

He arched a brow. "New dress?"

Harri grinned, leaning back in her seat as he pulled the motor car into gear. "Touché."

The car rumbled to life, pulling them away from Watery Lane, away from nosy sisters and the safety of home. For a brief, giddy moment, it was just the two of them—Thomas Shelby, all cool steel edges, and Harri Potter, whose heart hadn't felt this light in years.

⚡️

They drove in a comfortable, almost sacred silence toward the Bromford racetracks. The hum of the engine, the occasional crackle of gravel under the tires, and the faint scent of smoke from shared cigarettes were the only things filling the space between them. Harri's fingers absently twisted her shawl, and each time she flicked ash into the wind, Tommy's eyes found her without thinking. She did the same—searched for him in those quiet moments—and when their eyes met, it was like a silent, shared acknowledgment that no words were needed. They smiled, small and knowing, the kind of smile that made the world shrink until it was just them.

Tommy hadn't felt this in years. The way a boy feels the first time he touches something delicate and realizes he wants to protect it. Innocent. Soft. And yet it carried a weight he would remember decades from now, long after the violence, the scheming, the whole bloody empire he had built, would seem like nothing more than a story told by his scars. It was disarming how easy it was with Harriett. She saw everything—the parts of him he hated, the choices he'd made in shadows, the hands stained with blood and soot—and she didn't flinch. She didn't care. She simply loved him for him, not for the man he could be or should be.

He let his hand brush against hers as he passed back the cigarette, teasing it along the soft skin of her wrist. She shivered almost imperceptibly, gooseflesh rising in delicate patches, and he smirked, silently delighted. When her shoulder met his hand, he allowed his fingers to drift higher, and she leaned into him without hesitation. She didn't fight him when he tugged just softly enough to have her slide across the leather seat to curl up against his side like she had always belonged there.

And she stayed there. Firm and unyielding, like glue. Tommy breathed in that proximity, the subtle scent of smoke and lavender, and felt a peace he hadn't known since before the world had turned dark for him. She didn't recoil from the blood he carried, from the dirt under his nails, or the ghosts that trailed him. She didn't ask him to be anyone else. She didn't try to fix him. She just... was there, and he was home.

Harriett carried her own battles, he knew. He would someday hear the stories of the things she had done, the horrors she had survived, and he would hold them all tenderly, lovingly—even the parts of her that might have seemed unbearable. Together, they could be beautifully terrible, mirrored reflections of each other's chaos.

He remembered thinking once that Grace was the one he could do this with, but that had been childish. Grace could not hold this fire. She could not meet him on the same unflinching level. Harriett, though... Harriett could fight him and fight with him. She challenged him. She made him laugh when he wanted to scream. She swelled up, snapped back, and refused to back down. And he loved that. He loved that she didn't see him as a monster, but as an equal.

She liked the man that he was now, not who he could be or would've been. It was relieving to know that she didn't expect anything less or more than he was or could offer her.

He twined a loose, wild ringlet around his finger, marveling at its softness. He thought of Luna's words, muttered like secrets in passing, that Harri liked him far more than she let on. The thought made him smile quietly to himself. He knew Harri's struggle wasn't vanity or games—it was unfamiliarity with joy. Taking Tom and Teddy had been her first act purely for herself, her first true choice. Taking this chance with him, being here, choosing him—this was the first thing she had ever done for her own happiness.

And he liked it. Perhaps too much. But men, in the end, always liked the idea of being the source of a woman's happiness. The difference with Harri was that he wanted to be more than that. He wanted to shoulder it with her. To fight beside her. To build a life that was theirs, in all its bloody, messy, beautiful entirety.

The life, the family, the business.

The racetracks stretched ahead like an endless ribbon, but for now, nothing existed beyond the leather seat, the smoke curling between them, and the quiet, almost sacred press of her against him. And Tommy, for once, was exactly where he wanted to be.

He pulled the car into a quiet spot near the entrance and stepped out, offering Harriett his hand instead of his arm. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then gave a little approving smile that made him grin back. She clearly preferred holding his hand, and truthfully, so did he—the feel of her fingers lacing through his was enough to make the world shrink down to just the two of them.

The entrance was a swirl of color and noise: the press of the crowd, the whinnying of horses, the smell of tobacco and sweat mingling with something faintly sweet from the food stalls. But Tommy's presence made it all feel muted somehow, as if he were a shield he'd casually wrapped around her. He guided her easily through the throng, leaning close to explain odds and betting slips, letting his breath tickle the shell of her ear with each whispered word. She shivered, but didn't pull away; she had no desire to.

Finally, he led her to the room where music swirled and couples moved across a polished floor. The atmosphere was electric, yet strangely intimate. Tommy paused, then lowered himself into a gentlemanly bow.

"Lady Harriett Peverell," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Care to dance with a lowly-born bookmaker?"

Harri's lips curved, her mischief matching his. "Yes," she said firmly, taking his hand. "Yes, I would."

He guided her to the center of the floor, and just as he was about to begin, she grinned at him, a spark of playful defiance in her eyes.

"I hope you're not fond of your toes," she teased.

"What?" he asked, a chuckle escaping. "Can't dance?"

"Terrible," she admitted, smirking. "Absolutely terrible."

Tommy's smile softened. "Then I'll just have to make you good." He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and before she could protest, he spun her into the rhythm of the music. Unlike most, who would resist being led, Harriett moved with him, pushing and pulling in perfect synchronicity, letting him guide her every step.

Her laughter rang out when he twirled her, dizzying her in the best possible way. For the first time, she wasn't stumbling. She wasn't awkward. She was simply... dancing. And maybe, just maybe, it really was the partner that made all the difference. A flicker of Sirius's voice flitted through her memory, faint yet teasing, from that long night at Grimmauld.

Harri couldn't believe she was actually dancing for the first time in her life and not stumbling or making an utter fool of herself. Maybe it really was all in the partner...

As Tommy guided her through a particularly swift spin, Harriett's mind flickered to a memory she hadn't thought of in years.

"No daughter of mine is going to be the first Black that can't dance! I blame James for this injustice of left feet!"

She smiled, the memory vivid. Fourteen-year-old Harri, her curls wild and eyes wide, had been yanked onto the dance floor by Sirius Black himself. He'd taken her small hand and placed it on his waist, grinning at her horrified expression.

"It's not bad, Bambi. It all has to do with your partner. If they can't lead you—then they aren't the right ones. Find a man who can dance... or a woman if that's your choice of flavor."

"Siri!" Harri had smacked his chest, laughing despite herself.

"Only conveying my support, alwaysss," he'd said, bowing mockingly as though he'd just delivered the most profound advice of her life.

The memory made her grin against Tommy's shoulder. Unlike Sirius, Tommy wasn't theatrically over-the-top. He didn't command the floor with words or jokes. He simply was steady, confident, and perfectly in tune with her. Her feet followed his without effort, her body relaxed in a way it never had with the young Sirius barking instructions at her.

And yet, she had to admit... a part of her loved that Sirius had thought so seriously about dancing—or about anything that made her feel seen. But Tommy... Tommy just made her feel safe enough to let go entirely.

She leaned just slightly closer, feeling the heat of his chest against hers, and let the music sweep her up again.

When the song ended, he dipped her low. Her eyes widened in surprise, then he leaned quickly, pressing a brief, fleeting kiss to the corner of her mouth—so fleeting she almost thought she'd imagined it. She felt the warmth linger long after he had pulled back, a gentle promise written in the curve of his lips.

Her cheeks flushed, her heart pounding with butterflies she didn't even know she had left.

"See," he said, brushing a hand through her hair so gently it sent shivers down her spine. "You can dance."

Harri let herself grin, her chest still fluttering, and pressed a little closer, realizing she wanted nothing more than to stay exactly where she was—in his arms, in this stolen moment, letting the world blur around them.

It was, perhaps, the best day Harri had ever had with anyone.

Right before the races started, she had picked a horse at random, which surged into the lead.

"You've got an eye for it," Tommy said.

"Luck," she replied quickly, hiding the fact that she'd also asked Luna for a tip.

Tommy studied her a beat longer than was comfortable, as if weighing whether to press further. Then he simply said, "Luck's as good a thing as any to have."

They drank champagne from thin glasses, shared a packet of roasted chestnuts, and laughed quietly when a fight broke out three rows down. Harri found herself smiling more than she had in years. For once, she wasn't just the mother of two boys or the reluctant Lady Peverell. She was a woman on a date.

As the last race ended, Tommy slipped his hand over hers, calloused fingers firm but careful. "Not bad for a first outing," he said, as though it had been no effort at all to bring her here, as though he hadn't been watching her every reaction the whole night.

Her heart hammered in response. "Not bad," she agreed.

Walking her back to the car, the city alive with night sounds around them, Harri thought she might actually let herself have this—let herself be seen, be cared for, and, for once, just be her.

They had a refined dinner at a posh city restaurant and they walked hand in hand along the pavement, the noise of the city fading around them. Their conversation flowed, surprisingly profound for two people who were normally so measured with words.

Harri told him about being orphaned as a child, about her shite aunt and uncle, all the heavy things most people saved for a sixth or seventh date. All because he'd asked about her family—and when she hesitated, he'd simply asked her to tell him the truth.

"I prefer to get over the dark subjects first, eh," he said, brushing a thumb lightly across her jaw. "So we can get to the good parts quicker."

He knew about magic, so there was no sense in holding back. And though she didn't tell him about the whole time-traveling ordeal, it was a relief to know he didn't give a shite about her scars—seen or unseen. He saw her as she was: simply perfect.

When he promised he'd see that she'd never be anything other than who she wanted to be, and that if anyone said otherwise, he'd protect her—Harri grabbed his jacket to halt him. He looked at her, curious.

"What?" he asked.

She surged up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips.

⚡

The Shelby house was never quiet even when children weren't in it. Though it was louder today. Teddy and Tom were crawling or in Tom's case, half marching with toddler-sized determination around the parlor when John sauntered in with his trademark smirk.

"Well, if it isn't the second sibling," he announced, eyes twinkling as he jerked his chin toward Ginny, who sat cross-legged on the carpet stacking blocks for the boys, she had been needling Hermione into a tizzy causing her magic to turn her hair into something that resembled a cottonball gone wrong.

Ginny blinked up at him. "Excuse me?"

"Second sibling," John repeated, clearly delighted with himself. "First sibling is her." He jabbed a thumb toward Hermione, perched stiffly in a chair with a book in her lap. "You're just the second one. Comes after. You know — less important."

Hermione's nostrils flared because she wished they would all leave her alone! She was starting to think it would have been better to stay at the flat with Kreature for company who was not happy about Harri going on a date with Tommy.

Ginny's jaw dropped. "EXCUSE ME?!"

John held up his hands in mock innocence. "Don't shoot the messenger, love. That's just the order of things. First sibling, then second sibling. Guess you were born to play backup."

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink. "That's not even—"

But John wasn't done. He tipped his chin toward Ginny with exaggerated sympathy. "Don't worry, Gigi. You're useful enough, I reckon."

Ginny blinked, once, twice... then launched herself to her feet and socked him right in the face.

It wasn't elegant, but it landed solidly enough to make John stumble back a step, hand flying to his jaw.

"Bloody hell!" he barked, more startled than hurt.

From the table, Esme absolutely howled with laughter, nearly spilling her tea. "Oh, John! Your mouth finally wrote a cheque your chin couldn't cash!"

Ginny shook out her fist, glaring. "Second sibling, my arse. Try it again, and you'll be choking on your own teeth."

Luna, unfazed said serenely, "That was very efficient. Like a thunderclap. Sudden and cleansing."

Hermione was torn between outrage at John, pride in Ginny, and horror that she just hit John! Granted he deserved it but... Merlin.

"Mate," Ginny finally said, shaking her head. "She needs me to spice up her life. Without me, Hermione would die of boredom."

"I would not!" Hermione snapped, slamming her book closed with a sharp thwack.

"Oh, but you would," Ginny shot back cheerfully. "You'd drown in parchment and schedules and dust from the library shelves, and I'd have to rescue you."

Luna, who had been quietly humming to herself while letting Teddy gum one of her bangles, glanced up dreamily. "I think Hermione wouldn't drown, actually. She'd just slowly turn into a book. A very cross one. With a monocle."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again, utterly at a loss.

Polly exhaled a long drag from her cigarette and leaned over the babies. "Don't be like that with each other," she muttered — but her gaze was squarely on Teddy, who was chewing his fist like it owed him money. "You hear me, little man? Don't treat Tom the way your aunties do each other."

Teddy blinked up at her, drool soaking his entire hand. Then, with great solemnity, he pulled his fist out of his mouth and planted it directly on Tom's face.

Tom froze, eyes widening at the slobbery hand smushing his nose. Then came the scream — sharp, furious, betrayed.

Ginny scooped him up just as Tom twisted around and shot Teddy the dirtiest look his tiny face could manage.

"Oh, Merlin," Ginny wheezed, kissing Tom's damp hair while trying not to laugh. "Polly, I think Teddy just made an enemy for life."

Polly only chuckled. "Good. Builds character."

John groaned, "Bloody women everywhere... turning my own house against me."

Esme cackled harder. "Serves you right, you cocky bastard."

John shot her a dirty look. "Don't you have laundry to clean?"

"Ginny's charmed it for me, you arse. Now go get our kids from school," She said snappishly. "Be useful."

John muttered under his breath and grabbed his coat and stomped out of the house.

It wasn't even 10 minutes later when Arthur barged in through the front door, already swaying, his cap askew, his cheeks ruddy with whiskey. "Where's m'brother then? Where's that slippery bastard—Johnnn!" he bellowed, nearly tripping over Teddy's wooden blocks.

"Christ, Arthur," Polly muttered, but before she could snatch him by the ear, Luna had risen to her feet, calm as ever.

"Come along, Arthur," she said dreamily, looping her arm through his with surprising strength. "Let's take a walk to sober up before you fall over and crack your head like a pumpkin."

Arthur squinted down at her as she led him out the door, his heavy boots dragging. "Yer... yer a fookin' angel, you know that?" he slurred.

Luna tilted her head, considering. "Oh, Artie, your head's full of wrackspurts."

Arthur thumped his chest with his free hand, nearly losing his balance. "Full of devotion, more like! Devotion for you, Lu! I'd build you an altar—no, bigger than an altar—a whole fookin' shrine! Right there in the street! Candles, statues, the lot!"

Luna's eyes twinkled as if she were watching the stars. "That seems a little impractical. You'd block the tram."

Arthur stopped dead in the middle of the cobblestones, gripping her hands like she was his lifeline. "Don't care! I'll fight the tram! I'll fight the whole bloody world! For you, my goddess of the moon."

Luna leaned close, voice soft and airy. "That's very sweet, Arthur. But what you really need is water and a good lie down."

She tugged him gently across the road toward his flat, Arthur stumbling but obedient, still muttering about shrines and altars, about the sky itself bowing to his Luna.

His boots scuffed noisily against the cobblestones, every other step catching on a loose stone or the edge of a puddle. He dragged Luna along like a man twice lost and only barely tethered to earth. She, however, walked beside him as if they were gliding across a ballroom floor, her pale hair glimmering faintly beneath the lanterns.

"Y'know what I'd do, Lu?" Arthur blurted, stopping short in the middle of the road again. He wobbled, and she steadied him with a light hand against his arm. His eyes, bloodshot and wet at the corners, stared at her like she was salvation. "I'd climb up Big Ben m'self an' carve yer name in it. Big bloody letters. Luna Lovegood, goddess of the bloody sky! Then no one'd forget."

Luna blinked slowly, like an owl considering its prey. "That seems dangerous. And a little rude to the clock. Time can be very sensitive, you know."

Arthur let out a strangled laugh, almost a sob. "Bloody hell, yer somethin' else. Yer... yer not like anyone. Never met anyone like you." He staggered sideways, nearly colliding with a lamppost. "All me life, it's been fists, an' blood, an' fightin'. But you—" His voice cracked, his hand clutching at his chest. "You make me think there's... somethin' worth it, y'know? Somethin' better. You're like... like—fuck, I dunno the word—"

"Moonlight," Luna supplied gently, guiding him up the steps to his flat. "It's very good at shining even when everything else is dark."

Arthur froze, blinking at her in wonder, his drunken haze breaking just enough for his jaw to tighten. "That's it. That's fuckin' it, Lu. Moonlight. You're my bloody moonlight."

By the time she'd unlocked the door—because of course Arthur had dropped his keys somewhere between the pub and home—he was leaning heavily against her, mumbling the word like a prayer. "Moonlight, moonlight, moonlight..."

Inside, the flat smelled of stale tobacco and cheap gin. Arthur kicked his boots off with such force that one toppled a chair, then nearly toppled himself. Luna caught him by the elbow, steering him toward the bed.

"I'll fight the bloody Devil for you," Arthur swore, voice raw, as he collapsed onto the mattress. "Swear it on me mother's grave, I'll build you that shrine—candles, crosses, everythin'. Don't care if the King himself comes down and tells me no. I'll tell him to piss off, I will!"

"That's a very noble sentiment," Luna said serenely, tugging the blanket over him. "But what you really need is rest."

Arthur caught her wrist clumsily, holding her with surprising strength despite the whiskey. His eyes burned, desperate, as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. "Don't leave me, Lu. Don't... don't ever leave. Everyone bloody leaves. Brothers, mates, all of 'em. Don't you do it."

Luna sat on the edge of the bed, her free hand smoothing his damp curls back from his forehead. "Oh, Arthur. You're very loud when you're afraid. But the moon doesn't leave. It just waits behind the clouds."

For a long moment, Arthur just stared at her, mouth working, no words coming. Then he let out a shuddering breath and pressed her hand to his chest. "Yer too good for me. Too bloody good."

His eyes fluttered shut, but not before he whispered, broken and reverent, "My goddess."

Luna hummed softly, a little tune that might have been a lullaby or might have been nonsense. She tucked the blanket tight, like one would a child, and rose with the same calm grace she'd entered with.

Arthur was already snoring, but his lips were still moving, whispering her name to the dark.

Luna blew out the lamp, leaving the room in moonlight, and slipped silently out the door.

Chapter Text

"Tell me everything terrible you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

- Edgar Allen Poe

⚡

Arthur woke to war.

Not the kind with bullets and trenches, but the kind that lived in his skull. His head pounded like the artillery was still hammering the Somme. His mouth was dry and foul tasting, not to mention, but his tongue had the feeling as if it had been rolled in coal dust. The stench of gin and whiskey clung to his shirt, the sheets, his very skin. He groaned, one hand clamped to his forehead, the other fisting in the blankets like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

"Jesus wept..." he muttered hoarsely. "Kill me now an' be done with it."

"Don't tempt me."

Polly's voice cut through the fog like a whip. Arthur cracked open one swollen eye to see her standing at his window in his studio flat. She had already cracked the blinds and the window partially open. Her arms were folded as she stood in the hazy sunlight with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She looked him over with that sharp, surgical gaze that saw right through excuses and self-pity alike.

"You were pissin' about in the street last night. Yelling about altars and moon goddesses. Half of Small Heath heard you, Arthur."

Arthur winced, rolling onto his side, as if he could shield himself from her words. "Fookin' hell, Pol. Keep it down, eh? Yer voice—yer voice is like a bloody bell ringin' in me fookin' skull."

"Good!" Polly snapped. "Maybe you'll remember it next time before making a fool of yourself. Did you know you're banging on about tea leaves and machine guns to the whole bloody Nip on dime yesterday? Then you heard from a whinging Isiah that Ginny slept with Esme and you came over to tell him like a little snitch? You've Finn runnin' about sayin' his brother's joined a pagan cult." She took a drag on her cigarette, smoke curling lazily upward. "All because you can't hold your drink."

Arthur groaned again, flopping back against the pillow. His heart hammered faster at the memory—bits and pieces of the night rushing back. Lantern light. Cobblestones. Luna's hair like silver mist. His own voice shouting, slurring, begging her not to leave. "Oh, fook me... I said all that out loud, didn't I?"

Polly arched an eyebrow. "Every bloody word. Moon goddess, shrine, the lot. If you're lucky, people will just think you've gone off the deep end again."

Arthur dragged the blanket over his head, muffling a curse. "Christ Almighty."

Just then, there was a soft knock at the doorframe. Luna drifted in like a wisp of smoke, carrying a tray with both hands. A teapot sat on it, steaming, alongside a little plate of biscuits and something that looked suspiciously like a bunch of crushed flowers wrapped in cloth.

"Good morning, Arthur Shelby," she said, in a voice so mild it seemed to erase the hangover's edge for a moment. "You looked very troubled last night. I thought you might need a remedy."

Arthur bolted upright—or tried to, only to collapse back with a groan. His ears went red, shame flooding him faster than the pounding in his skull. "Fookin' hell, Lu. You—you heard all that?"

Luna tilted her head, considering. "I heard your heart. It was very loud." She set the tray on the nightstand, her movements unhurried, gentle, as if she were tending to a wounded animal.

Polly snorted, muttering, "Heart... What a load of fucking bollocks. It was his bloody mouth." But she stubbed out her cigarette and, for once, didn't interfere further. She lingered in the doorway, arms crossed again, watching with a curious sharpness.

Arthur tried to sit up again, desperate to salvage some dignity, but the room spun and he slumped against the headboard, clutching at his temple. "I made a right tit of meself, didn't I?"

Luna poured tea into a mismatched cup and handed it to him with steady hands. "Not at all. You were very poetic."

"Poetic?" Arthur barked a laugh that turned into a cough. "Fook me, Lu. I was pissed out me bloody mind."

She dipped a biscuit into her own cup of tea and took a dainty bite. "Sometimes people are most honest when they are fickle. The truth tends to slip through the cracks."

Arthur's throat worked as he stared at her, remembering every desperate word he'd spilled. His chest tightened. "I—I meant it, y'know. Even if I were legless."

Polly rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. "Christ, Arthur, drink your bloody tea before you start preaching again. Alright, that's me, I only came by to warn you to stay away from Jeremiah — His in right tizz over Ginny messing with his boy and then shoving her hands between Esme's thighs. God that girl is... If it weren't for the hair you'd think she was a Shelby."

Arthur shot Polly a confused look but then he remembered how Isiah came into Nip on a Dime and got pissed while bemoaning how the first girl he actually got with that he liked turned out to be a fucking Dyke. Sure he knew Ginny liked Snuggle pupping females but he didn't think she wanted to have sex with them!

Arthur was so offended on John's behalf that he left the pub to tell his brother that his wife was fucking Ginny but he never got the chance to tell him because he was too pissed and Luna had to tend to him again.

Luna only smiled serenely. "I think John would like having two wives."

Polly was still laughing when she left, you could hear her going down the stairwell having a fit.

Luna then turned back to Arthur. "I made you a charm." She held up the little cloth bundle. "It's for hangovers. Dandelion root, nettle, and a touch of powdered moonstone. You tuck it under your pillow and it will help the bad spirits leave."

Arthur blinked at it, torn between scoffing and clutching it to his chest. In the end, he took it gingerly, like it was some holy relic. His throat burned as he muttered, "Thank you, Lu."

"You're welcome," she said simply, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Then she reached out and smoothed his hair back from his sweaty forehead. "Rest, Arthur. The moon will keep watch."

He swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut, shame and awe tangling in his chest. For the first time in years, he didn't feel the need to fight it.

⚡

The parlor of Harri and her family's home was warm with firelight and the steady tick of the clock. On the rug, Tom with his stubborn wobbling legs wobbling toddled after a wooden horse that was dragged on a string. Teddy clapped from his perch on a cushion, his little hair tufts shifting color every few seconds. "Om! Om!" he cried with giggles.

It should have been sweet. It should have been quiet. Instead, Kreacher was rasping mutters from the corner where he was folding laundry with suspiciously violent precision.

And Ginny Weasley, sprawled on the sofa with a Witch Weekly propped against her knees, sighing dramatically every few minutes.

"I am watching them," she said loudly to no one in particular. "They're perfectly fine. Honestly, people act like I can't be trusted with children."

"Because Mistress knows," Kreacher croaked, shooting her a withering glare, "Weasley has the attention span of a stunned flobberworm."

Ginny didn't look up. "They're fine. Look — Tom's walking, Teddy's not crying. Job done."

Kreacher's eyes bulged. "Job done?" he repeated. "Job done when the young heir cracks his head on the hearth? Job done when Mistress returns to find the noble children bruised and battered while little Weasley scratches at her nails?"

Ginny snorted, cutting the deck. "You'd think you were their nursemaid, the way you go on."

The elf stepped forward, lip curling. "Kreacher is their protector. The Mistress trusts him. Shameful... Mistress leaves Kreacher to guard her heirs, but saddles Kreacher with the burden of a Weasley girl. A ginger, lying about like the drunkards on the street corners, playing cards while babes stumble. The Mistress would sooner trust a doxy with a silk gown."

Ginny sat up sharply. "Excuse me? I am responsible. I am helping."

Kreacher sniffed, folding a towel so tightly the threads squeaked. "Weasley girl does not even know what helping is. Running about with Muggle boys, shameful, disgraceful. Filthy red hair, filthy habits. Mistress Peverell leaves Kreacher to guard the true heirs, not a child who plays at being useful."

Ginny's ears went pink. "I'll have you know my family is one of the oldest pure-blood lines—"

"Are old and poor," Kreacher cut her off with a sniff. "Old like spoiled milk. Poor like rats in the gutter. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black does not recognize burrowing ginger rabbits who sell themselves to Muggle trash."

"Oi!" Ginny sputtered, leaping to her feet. "I do not—"

"Do not what?" Kreacher rasped gleefully. "Do not lie down with married mud-rats? Kreacher has ears. Kreacher knows. Mistress does not, but if she asked..." His grin stretched wide and malicious. "Oh, Kreacher would tell..."

Ginny collapsed back onto the sofa with a groan, pulling a pillow over her face. Kreacher, deeply satisfied, muttered, "Yes, better she cover her face. Less shameful for the walls to look at."

Ginny shot up "Say that again, you wrinkled little—"

But before she could stomp closer, Tom waddled over with his horse, bumped her leg, and plopped down, utterly unfazed. Teddy squealed with laughter, clapping his hands, as if the whole fight was a comedy show for his benefit.

Ginny froze, chest heaving, glaring down at Kreacher while the elf glared back, pleased as poison.

Finally, Ginny huffed and dropped back into the chair. "You're right sodden wanker."

Kreacher gave her a smile that made her swear to remember not to take any of the tea he made for the next few days.

⚡

The atrium of the Ministry was buzzing, a hive of whispers and quills scratching parchment. Word had already run ahead of the delegation: Lady Harriett Peverell, the lost heir, was to appear before the Wizengamot. The emergency meeting she had forced the Prime Minister to call three days ago had drawn every house into the chamber.

Inside the great hall of judgment, tier upon tier of purple-robed witches and wizards shifted restlessly. Some leaned forward like vultures circling a kill, scenting scandal and opportunity, while others—old names like Nott, Malfoy, Lestrange, Yaxley, and Borgin—sat with eyes narrowed in suspicion. House Potter's representative, stern old Henry Potter, sat ramrod straight, his gaze flickering with both interest and distrust. Near him, Albus Dumbledore, young and flame-haired, sat quietly in the Dumbledore seat. He was not yet a legend, but already his sharp blue eyes missed nothing.

At the high dais, Chief Warlock Tiberius Ogden tapped his wand once against the gavel stone. The deep sound echoed through the chamber, and silence fell like a cloak.

"Come forth, Lady Peverell."

A stir rippled across the benches. The Peverell name had been dust in history for centuries— spoken only in the same breath as myth, relics, and stories best left to bedtime.

Harri stood. She wore no jewels, no ostentatious house colors, only a sensible dark blue coat and slightly scuffed black boots that still carried the faint odor of smoke from Small Heath. The contrast to the silken finery of her peers was sharp, deliberate. Behind her walked Hermione, the only one of the pair in proper witch's robes: soft periwinkle blue, lined with silvery sage green.

Gasps rose when Harri lifted her hand. On her finger gleamed an ancient black stone set in worn gold—the Peverell family ring, lost since before the signing of the Statute of Secrecy.

"I, Lady Harriett Lily Peverell," she said, her voice steady, carrying through the chamber as though the walls themselves bent to hear her, "do claim the seat of my House."

The reaction was instantaneous. Magic itself surged, pulsing through the chamber in recognition. The long-abandoned seat of Peverell, set apart from the curve of the Wizengamot as though waiting, suddenly shone with a blinding golden light. Ancient runes ignited in the stone. Golden chains spiraled from the dais like living flame, curling up around Harri's frame, tasting her magic, weighing her blood.

Several lords and ladies shouted in protest, and others cried out in astonishment.

"Impossible!"

"The Peverells are dead!"

"Trickery!"

But then the chains sank into Harri's skin, dissolving with a flash. The runes flared once more— and vanished.

The seat accepted her.

The Peverell crest blazed in smoky silver above the chamber for the first time in seven hundred years.

Chief Warlock Ogden inclined his head, his stern expression cracking into awe. "The Wizengamot acknowledges you, Lady Peverell."

Gasps scattered again. Even the most jaded among them could not deny what the magic itself had proclaimed.

But Harri did not take the seat. Instead, she turned, laying a firm hand on Hermione's arm.

"My sister," Harri declared, cutting across the stunned silence. "Hermione Jean Granger-Peverell will vote in my stead."

Hermione froze for only a heartbeat before straightening. She looked far younger than most in the chamber, but her voice rang steady: "I will represent my lady's interests faithfully."

The Wizengamot erupted.

"This is outrageous!"

"Who is this girl?"

"You would insult us with a proxy?"

"Bloodline trickery— this is fraud!"

House Malfoy's patriarch sneered openly, his pale cane tapping impatiently against the floor. Old Nott barked something about a scandal. Yet others— Rosier, Abbott, even a few of the Greengrass— watched with open curiosity, whispering about strategy.

On the benches above, Albus Dumbledore's lips twitched into something between surprise and intrigue. His eyes fixed on Hermione with an unreadable intensity. Henry Potter muttered darkly to his neighbor, though he did not voice protest outright.

Harri, meanwhile, slouched unceremoniously into the newly claimed chair, crossing one boot over the other like a girl waiting for the barmaid to bring her pint. She ignored the glares, the outrage, the ancient stares like knives in her back. If she had her way, this would be her only session. But leaving now would be foolish— so she stayed, her posture an act of defiance against centuries of tradition.

Hermione stepped into the advisory chair at her right, the Peverell crest glowing fiercely above them both.

And for the first time in centuries, the chamber of the Wizengamot shifted on its axis.

⚡

Two hours in the Wizengamot chamber was in full roar now, if Harri had known calling an emergency Wizengamot meeting would turn into a full-blown session she would have waited until the ACTUAL session to claim her seat. This was hell... literal hell. Raised voices were echoing off the polished marble around the chamber. Harri was now sitting with her legs crossed and her chin propped in one hand, looking more like a girl stuck in a dull lecture than the long-lost heir of a fabled house. Hermione, on the other hand, was scribbling furious notes in the margins of the thick legislative packets a house-elf had deposited before them.

"Bill 10-C," Hermione murmured, flipping pages. "Proposals to regulate goblin-forged metals—again."

Harri made a low, unimpressed noise and flicked her eyes to the dais. "More like proposals to line the pockets of wixen-crafters who can't match goblin craft."

Hermione shot her a warning look, but Harri only smirked.

The chamber floor was ablaze with the latest debate: a cluster of "Light" wizards in their pale robes demanding tighter regulation on "grey magic" — spells that straddled the line between practical and dangerous.

"If we do not draw a boundary," droned a haughty old wizard who looked a bit like Terry Boot with a nose like a hawk, "then these questionable charms will be used as a slippery slope toward outright Dark practices—"

Harri sat up so suddenly that she accidentally knocked off Hermione's glass of water from their small table and caused it to shatter. The sound sliced through the chatter like a whip crack.

"Forgive me," she said coolly, her voice carrying, "but did I hear correctly? You want to start tagging and regulating 'grey' spells? Spells that save lives?"

Dozens of heads swiveled toward her.

"Why stop there?" she continued, her tone sharpened to a blade. "If we're going to brand every spell with potential for harm, why not ban Wingardium Leviosa while we're at it? Nothing says 'slippery slope' like bludgeoning a man to death with a levitated anvil."

Gasps rippled across the chamber.

She leaned lazily against the desk, eyes glittering with cold amusement. "Or perhaps the Tickling Charm? Surely you've considered how easily laughter can collapse a lung. Death by giggles seems dreadfully improper for such a civilized society."

The "Light" benches erupted into scandalized protests, hands flying, faces paling as though she'd desecrated the very foundations of Hogwarts.

But on the "Dark" side— Lestrange, Burke, even the stony Malfoy patriarch —there was a ripple of sharp surprise, then something dangerously close to respect.

And from the Potter bench— young Charlus Potter, not yet tempered by years of politics, let out a loud, utterly unrestrained snort.

His father Henry's hand shot out to grip his arm, but Charlus was already laughing. He covered it badly with a cough, then he drawled, "Well said, Lady Peverell. Quite right, if the esteemed Avery can use a Summoning Charm to fetch his wig from across the chamber, surely the rest of us are doomed already."

Avery's face turned crimson, his powdered wig sitting askew as a few muffled chuckles broke from the benches.

The Chief Warlock banged his wand for order, but the damage was done, whispers hissed through the chamber, eyes flickering between Harriett and Charlus Potter as though the two had staged some sort of scandalous comedy. Harri, for her part, sat back down slowly. She didn't bother hiding her grin when Charlus winked at her across the benches; pompous and perfectly pleased with himself.

Hermione muttered, "You're going to start a riot before tea break."

Harri shrugged at her, "At least then it won't be so bloody boring."

The next item on the agenda was a bill from Lord Travers, concerning "the proper categorisation of magical creatures deemed nuisances."

"By nuisances," Travers drawled, "I do of course mean pests— those vile half-trolls wandering about the Welsh border, goblins with their eternal greed, and the occasional werewolf refusing a proper collar."

A few titters of agreement fluttered across the chamber.

Hermione's hand twitched around her quill, and she leaned forward before Harri could so much as raise a brow. "Point of clarification," Hermione said, her voice crisp, polite, but carrying across the floor. "Did you just call sentient beings pests?"

The entire Wizengamot shifted as though someone had set off a firecracker in their midst.

Travers blinked at her, scandalised. "Sentient— my lady, I assure you, goblins are no more sentient than—"

"Than you, apparently," came a dry voice from the Potter seat. Charlus Potter lounged in his chair, chin propped on his hand, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Though I daresay the goblins dress better."

Laughter rippled across the benches.

Even Harri, who'd been slouching low in her chair, perked up and let out an unrestrained laugh that echoed around the marble. A few of the older purebloods swiveled toward her in horror, as though decorum itself had been slapped across the face. She only smirked back, wholly unrepentant.

Hermione pressed on, cheeks flushed but eyes bright. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has documents classifying goblins as fully sentient, with their own government and culture. It's absurd to dismiss them as nuisances. As for werewolves— forcing collars on them is slavery, not governance!"

The Malfoy patriarch, a thin man with a waspish voice, leaned forward with a smirk. "And next she'll be telling us that vampires ought to have a vote."

"Better them than some in this chamber," A man who Harri would have bet her left arse cheek was the disowned Phineas Black II that Sirius had told her about when he found her looking at the Black Tapestry. He looked just like his father only he was broader in the shoulders... and sitting in the McKinnon roll next to an empty Head of House seat. He didn't even bother looking up from his notes. "At least vampires don't suck the coffers dry while pretending it's for the good of wizarding Britain."

That earned him a roar of laughter so raucous that Chief Warlock Ogden had to slam his staff down three times to restore order.

Harri snorted into her hand, she cast a sideways glance at Hermione, who was already scribbling furious notes in the margins of her packet, lips pursed but eyes alight with vindication.

More bills followed. A tax proposal from House Rosier (roundly booed). A tedious twenty-minute debate over cauldron bottom thickness that had even Hermione stifling yawns. Harri barely glanced at the parchment in front of her, flipping lazily through pages. She traced idle doodles along the edge of her quill and looked about two minutes away from propping her boots up on the railing. But every so often, when the chamber descended into sharp-tongued bickering, her eyes gleamed with amusement, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.

"Order, order!" Ogden barked again as two Lords began shouting across the benches, calling each other everything from "a Ministry toady" to "a troll in dress robes."

"I think," Hermione whispered through the side of her mouth to Harri, "I'll need to start a dictionary of all the... creative insults."

Harri smiled, "Not a bad idea. Though Potter might need his own appendix."

At that moment, Charlus Potter leaned forward again, drawling at Avery, "My dear Lord Avery, you've managed a rare feat today— sounding simultaneously profound and entirely dim-witted. Quite like a Kneazle attempting Latin."

The chamber erupted. Even Ogden's lips twitched before he sternly banged his staff again.

Harri, this time, doubled over in her chair, laughter bubbling out unrestrained and her shoulders shaking. The scandalised looks she received only made her laugh harder.

Beside her, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose— but there was no hiding the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

And so the meeting stretched on: pomp, wit, sharp barbs, and Hermione's steady interjections whenever "creatures" were maligned. Harri stayed quiet, her silence oddly heavy, as though her very presence shifted the air. But she was also the girl who could laugh without shame in the face of ancient tradition— and that unnerved more than one Lord in the chamber.

She had never been so pleased when they called for a tea break and made a quick dash out of the Chamber and slipped gratefully into the quieter antechamber off the main hall, where tables were laden with silver trays of delicate sandwiches and pastries. She had barely filled her plate before she felt the weight of an all-too-familiar stare boring into the side of her head.

"Lady Peverell," came the smooth, self-important voice. Lord Phineas Nigellus Black, Headmaster of Hogwarts and proud peacock of the Wizengamot's old guard, was bearing down on her with the air of a hawk sighting prey. "At last, a word in private."

Harri who had always wanted to set his portrait on fire back in her time, did not even look up at first. She took her seat, stretched her legs beneath the table, and deliberately reached for the nearest pastry. A sugared blackcurrant bun, still warm. She dunked it into her steaming teacup, letting it soak and break apart, and then shoved the dripping mess into her mouth.

Phineas stopped dead, his aristocratic eye twitching as if she had struck him. "Merlin's beard—"

"Mhm?" Harri made a show of chewing noisily. Crumbs scattered down her front. "You were saying?"

Phineas recovered, straightening his embroidered robes with a flick. "I was merely observing that it is high time our Houses reconsidered their positions. The Black and Peverell lines, though diminished, remain pillars of wizarding tradition. An alliance—"

"—would bore me half to death," Harri cut in, dunking her next pastry and watching his lip curl. "Pass the sugar, will you?"

Phineas ignored the request, though his nostrils flared. "You ought to take this seriously, child. You sit here with a legacy most witches could only dream of, and yet you squander it. A Peverell in alliance with the Blacks would secure the influence of both families for generations to come."

Harriett leaned back in her chair, swallowing her tea-soaked pastry with a satisfied sigh. "Here's the thing, Lord Black. I don't fancy being told who to tie myself to like I'm one of your Ministry decrees. You want an alliance? Try writing a polite letter instead of harassing me while I'm eating."

Across the room, Hermione, sipping primly from her cup, stifled a laugh behind her hand as she was speaking to Lady Aurelia Prince and her husband Lord Jacque Prince. They were acting as if they were not eavesdropping when they clearly were.

Phineas's eye twitched again, though his voice remained velvety. "Decorum matters, Lady Peverell. You would do well to learn it."

She dunked another pastry—this one crumbling apart entirely in the tea so she had to fish it out with her fingers. She licked them clean with exaggerated satisfaction. "Decorum's overrated. Now fuck off."

The twitch in Phineas's eye spread to his jaw. For a moment it looked as though he might actually combust. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height, sniffed sharply, and muttered something about "ill-bred Peverells" before storming off to torment another unfortunate victim.

"Lovely man," Harri said dryly to herself once he was gone, flicking crumbs off her lap.

The moment Lord Phineas Nigellus stormed off in a cloud of indignation, another voice floated in, warm with amusement and sharp enough to cut.

"Well, I say..."

Harri glanced up to see a man lowering himself into the chair opposite her, balancing a teacup with far more elegance than she could be bothered with. His resemblance to the retreating Headmaster was faint but unmistakable—the sharp nose, the sly tilt to the eyes. But where Phineas Nigellus was all haughty disdain, this one carried himself with an easy charm, the kind born of defiance.

"Very good show, my lady," he said, raising his cup in salute. "My father deserves a kick in the groin, but I can only hope what I just witnessed was the warming act."

Harri arched an eyebrow, her teacup pausing halfway to her lips. Hermione nearly choked on her biscuit as she took her seat beside her.

"Phineas Black the Second," he supplied smoothly, bowing his head a fraction. "His shame, his castoff, his utter disappointment. You may call me Nigel if you like. Everyone else does."

"His son?" Hermione blurted before she could stop herself.

"I supported Muggleborn rights with my wife Ida McKinnon, he burnt me off the family tapestry in revolt of his wayward son," Nigel said with a grin, sipping his tea like it was the punchline. "I daresay, Lady Peverell, you've just done more in five minutes than I've managed in twenty-seven years of tormenting him. Bravo."

Harri smiled at him. Sirius would have liked Nigel, it was too bad they never got to meet. Now that the Headmaster was nowhere near them she dropped the bad tea manners and did not dunk her next pasty into it despite having already ruined her fine cuppa. "Glad to be of service. I'm rather fond of ruining pompous men's days."

"That," Nigel said warmly, "makes two of us. Though I admit, your methods are refreshingly messy. Father nearly swallowed his own mustache."

Hermione gave Harri a sideways look, both exasperated and amused. "You're encouraging her."

"Encouraging?" Nigel said with mock innocence, leaning back. "No, no, Miss Granger-Peverell. I am reveling. There's a difference."

⚡

The tea lounge was abuzz with murmurs, half gossip about Lady Peverell's "outburst," and half complaints about the biscuits being stale. Harri, very deliberately, ignored all of it. She had claimed her corner with Hermione and was busy demolishing her plate with the kind of focused spite only a woman who loathed being lectured could manage. Nigel Black lounged opposite, eyes glittering with delight every time she broke another social rule.

It was into this tableau that three more figures arrived, all in tailored robes that spoke of old wealth and family pride.

"Merlin save us," Nigel muttered, setting down his cup, "the cavalry arrives."

Charlus Potter, not yet Head of the Ancient House but carrying himself like he already owned half the chamber, dropped into the seat beside Harri without so much as an invitation. It was mind-boggling to her to see her great-uncle sitting very much alive near her. His younger brother, Fleamont who looked identical to her father James had the same unruly Potter hair that defied all notions of gravity. Fleamont had a smile that was boyish and took the chair beside Nigel. The third, Hugo McKenzie, a broad-shouldered Scot with twinkling eyes, settled down between them like a referee already anticipating trouble.

Harri felt a bit out of sorts for a brief moment but was quick to shove it so far down and have a panic attack about it later. Now was not the time to cry about meeting her grandfather.

"Well.. this is cozy," Charlus drawled, reaching for the teapot and pouring without asking. "Lady Peverell, that was marvelous back there. You had half the chamber choking on their lace knickers."

"Pity she didn't choke them harder," Nigel said smoothly, leaning back in his chair and then scowling at Hugo. Hugo for his part just smiled at Nigel and took another sip of tea before grimacing.

Charlus barked out a laugh, loud enough to draw a few scandalized looks. "I knew I liked you, Black the Younger. Shame about your father being a priggish arse."

Hugo to Hermione's shock pulled out a rather large flask from under his kilt and proceeded to give himself a generous nip in his tea then poured it into everyone's cups.

Fleamont, more polished but with the same wicked glint, raised his cup in Harri's direction. "Lady Peverell, I must commend you. Only you could make Avery look like a scolded schoolboy and Lord Black like he'd bitten into a lemon all in the same hour. Quite a feat."

Hugo, grinning like a man enjoying the show, chimed in. "And all while dunking pastries like a barbarian. You've got style, lass. Here have a nip. It'll warm yer belly."

Harri accepted the splash happily while Hermione choked again, muttering under her breath, "This is not how political tea is supposed to go..."

"Politics is dull until someone bleeds," Harri said as quickly as a whip.

Charlus and Hugo were in chuckles while Charlus leaned in, his eyes bright with mischief. "Oh, I do hope you plan to keep bleeding them, Lady Peverell. This council's been stale for years. We could use a little chaos."

Nigel raised his brows. "Careful, Potter. I think she is the kind of sort who might take that as a dare."

Harri smirked, eyes glittering. "Sorry to disappoint, gentlemen but I am not patient enough to sit in a chamber all day listening to people talk. I prefer being outside and you know... actually living."

"Och, Lassie!" Hugo clutched at his chest.

The table erupted into loud laughter that was very much not in keeping with the stiff formality of a marvelous recess. Across the room, Phineas Nigellus glared so hard one might think he was trying to hex them all into silence with his eyes alone.

The laughter though had drawn more than a few scandalized glances, but it also drew something worse: Albus Dumbledore, still young enough to wear ambition in his step, still old enough to imagine he could play everyone like chess pieces.

"Lady Peverell," he said smoothly, coming up behind her chair with that infuriating little half-smile, "might I join you a moment?"

Both Potters, Black, and McKenzie at the table seemed to tense at once, though Charlus hid it behind an exaggerated sip of tea. Fleamont's eyebrows shot up. Nigel cleared his throat and was already trying to think of an excuse to leave without offending Harri and Hermione.

Harri didn't even bother looking up. She finished dunking what remained of her biscuit into her tea, popped it into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed with deliberate slowness. Then she set her cup down, wiped her fingers on her napkin, and stood.

"Bye," she said flatly, brushing past Dumbledore as though he were no more important than a passing coat rack.

Hermione nearly dropped her teacup. Nigel actually choked on his tea. Charlus slapped the table, laughing loud enough that three portraits hissed at him to behave. Fleamont hid his grin behind a polite cough. Hugo just shook his head, murmuring, "Sweet mother o' Merlin, she's fearless."

Dumbledore, left standing awkwardly over the suddenly raucous table, adjusted his spectacles and forced a mild smile, but the faint flush in his cheeks betrayed him.

Nigel leaned back, smirking up at him. "Well, Professor, I suppose that's what they call... being dismissed."

"Excuse me," Hermione said politely and rushed after her sister.

Harri strode out of the lounge with Hermione fluttering after her like a frazzled secretary, and the table behind them dissolved into a raucous mess.

Charlus was laughing so hard he had to dab at his eyes with his napkin. "Merlin's bones, look at his face! I swear, if Lady Peverell had spat on his shoes it would've been kinder."

Fleamont gave him a long-suffering look. "Do try not to sound too gleeful, brother. The Dumbledores have long memories."

"Yes, and so do the Potters," Charlus shot back with a grin, "but unlike the Dumbledores, we don't try to dress it up in piety and patience. We call a bastard a bastard and be done with it."

Nigel, who had just recovered from choking on his tea, muttered darkly, "If Father sees this table he'll take it as evidence civilization has collapsed."

"Civilization?" Hugo barked a laugh. "This lot? Civilized? I've seen bar brawls in Glasgow look more dignified than this chamber's debates." He raised his flask again in salute, eyes crinkling. "And bless Lady Peverell for saying it plain. They all think they're saving the world by talking it to death."

Fleamont chuckled, low and sharp, much like James would years later.

Dumbledore lingered at the edge of the table, feigning mild patience, but his knuckles were pale where they gripped his chair. His gaze followed Harri's retreating figure like a hawk denied its meal.

Charlus caught it and leaned back, smirking with Potter arrogance. "Don't worry, Albus. Not everyone needs to be your pupil."

It was a cutting line, delivered with such casual amusement that it sounded like a joke until the weight landed a second later. Nigel's mouth twitched, half-hiding a grin. Hugo snorted outright. Fleamont didn't bother disguising his laugh.

Dumbledore's smile stayed fixed, but the color had risen again in his cheeks. He inclined his head stiffly, then walked away, robes flaring in his wake.

The table exhaled together, laughter bubbling up once more.

"By Godric," Hugo said, still chuckling, "this is the best tea break I've ever had."

"Seconded," Charlus said, raising his cup again. "To Lady Peverell!"

The toast rang out bold and scandalous through the lounge. More than a few heads turned. Phineas Nigellus's eye twitched so violently he looked ready to combust.

And Harriett Peverell, striding down the corridor with her head held high with Hermione hissing at her for being utterly improper, did not give a single damn.

"Oi," Charlus suddenly blinked, his laugh dying mid-swig of tea. He squinted toward the doorway where Harri had gone. "She looked a bit like Monty, didn't she?"

"Don't be daft, big brother," Fleamont chuckled, though his brow creased just a fraction. "The Potters are tied to the Peverells six ways to Sunday. Some resemblance is bound to crop up."

Charlus wasn't convinced. He leaned forward, eyes alight with mischief. "No, listen. She had your nose. Same stubborn line. And your hair— well, if you set fire to it first. Merlin's beard, Monty, if she'd dyed it black and swapped her eyes for brown, she could've passed as your twin." He grinned like a cat with cream. "Or your daughter, if you were a touch older."

Fleamont let out a low snort and shook his head. "Time traveling doesn't exist, Charlie."

Nigel Black made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a strangled laugh, rolling his eyes so hard the ceiling might've caught them. "Fucking Potters. Always thinking the world spins just to set up your own family dramas."

Hugo slapped the table, wheezing. "By Godric's knobbly knees, don't encourage him, Monty. Next thing you know he'll be trying to prove Lady Peverell's his long-lost niece twice removed and writing sonnets about it."

Fleamont muttered something under his breath, but his fingers lingered on his teacup longer than they should have. There had been something uncanny in Lady Peverell's face when she smiled. He pushed it down with a sip of tea. Coincidence. Nothing more.

Charlus, meanwhile, was already smirking to himself like he'd uncovered some grand mystery.

Nigel glared at all of them in turn. "Merlin help us if you Potters ever breed with her line. The Ministry will collapse under the weight of your egos."

"Too late," Hugo laughed. "Half the chamber already collapsed under the weight of her wit."

Chapter Text

"When you smile at me, I lose myself.
You give me this feeling that makes me overwhelmed.
When your hand is in mine, I feel totally fine,
And that's the reason I had to make you mine."

- Unknown

⚡

Polly poured herself another splash of gin into her tea without blinking, stirring lazily with the spoon. Tommy sat opposite her, cigarette balanced between his fingers, ash hanging stubbornly to the end. The little sitting room was filled with smoke and the faint tick of the clock on the mantel. She'd been recounting Luna's little midnight adventure with Arthur, every word dipped in dry disdain.

"...and he kept callin' her his moon goddess, right there in the street. I swear to Christ, Tommy, he was swaying like a bloody tree about to topple. Luna just smiled, told him his head was full of 'whack sports,' whatever the fuck that means, then half-dragged him to his flat like a lamb on a lead. He looked about ready to kiss her feet."

Tommy dragged in a lungful of smoke, exhaled slowly, and finally said, flat as a blade of iron, "It's Arthur." He flicked his ash neatly into the tray. "That's about usual for him."

Polly arched a brow, lips twitching. "Not every day he promises to build a shrine, Thomas."

Tommy didn't rise to it. His gaze was down on his watch instead, flipping it open with a click. He checked the time, as if measuring out gunpowder, his sharp eyes narrowing. Then the watch snapped shut again, back into his pocket.

Polly watched him, sharp as ever. "Got somewhere to be?" she asked, tone sugared but edged.

He lifted his head to her slowly, fixing her with that flat Shelby stare, as though she'd asked the stupidest question in Birmingham.

"Harri and Hermione have that Wizengamot meeting today," he said finally, voice steady, practical. "They should be out soon. Harri said she'd come here with the boys after. We're going riding at Charlie's." He took another drag from his cigarette, smoke curling out in a thin stream. Then, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, he added, "I bought her a horse."

Polly froze mid-sip, teacup hovering at her lips. Her brows arched so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. Then, setting the cup down with a clink, she let out a low, wicked laugh.

"Well, Jesus Christ on a cart, Thomas," she said, shaking her head. "What are you doing? Planning your wedding already? Buying a horse for a girl is like slipping an engagement ring on her finger for our kind. The Gypsy way, that is."

Tommy didn't flinch. Didn't argue. He only rolled the cigarette between his fingers, shoulders loose, eyes half-lidded. A shrug ghosted through him, the barest concession.

Polly leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "Don't just sit there shrugging at me like a stone idol! Are you serious about this girl, or is it another one of your bloody grand gestures?"

Tommy finally looked up at her, unblinking, blue eyes clear as steel. No smirk. No denial.

"She's not just a girl," he said.

The words hung between them, heavier than the smoke curling around the room. Polly leaned back, lips curving into something between a smirk and a grimace. She opened her mouth to ask how the date went last night when coming from the hallway like the bloody place was on fire, voice cracking as Finn screamed.

"Tommy! Tommy!"

Polly shot upright in her chair, spilling a little gin-laced tea onto her lap. "Christ almighty, Finn, what is it now?"

"There's a—there's a weird, ugly fuckin' thing in the parlor!" Finn squealed. "It's gross!"

Tommy was already on his feet, pocket watch tucked away, cigarette balanced between his lips. He moved with that slow, measured gait of his, the one that said he'd already made up his mind about what he was walking into. He pushed through the doorway into the parlor.

There it was. Standing smack in the middle of the rug, all twisted limbs and sagging skin, glaring at the room like it was personally offensive.

Kreacher.

His big bat ears twitched, his long nose wrinkled, and his yellow eyes cut to Tommy with utter disdain.

Tommy took one look, exhaled smoke, and sighed like it was Tuesday. "Kreacher," he said flatly, as though greeting an irritating creditor.

The elf sneered, lip curling back to show sharp little teeth. "Mister Thomas Shelby." The way he spat it out, it was less a greeting and more an insult. "Mistress asked Kreacher to tell her muggle bitch she will be late. There was... a problem after the meeting."

Finn hovered in the doorway, eyes wide. "Fuckin' Christ, what is it?"

"Language!" Polly snapped, sweeping in after them, though she herself stopped dead when her eyes fell on Kreacher. "Bloody hell."

Kreacher ignored them both, his voice rising into a hiss. "Kreacher was told to bring her little masters to the blue-eyed filthy whore of his mistress."

Tommy's brows pinched, and he pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "Where are they then?"

The elf's glare deepened until it could have peeled wallpaper. His lip curled higher, every inch of him vibrating with offense. He looked Tommy up and down like the man wasn't fit to lick the mud from his feet, let alone be spoken to as an equal.

"You presume to ask Kreacher where his charges are?" the elf sneered. "You? A muggle with filthy hands and smoke-stink on his breath. You think yourself fit to care for the Mistress's sons? Ha! Kreacher would sooner hand them to a pack of wolves than to you."

Finn's mouth dropped open. "Did he just call you—?"

"Shut up, Finn," Tommy said without looking at him, his voice calm, soft, more dangerous for it. His blue eyes narrowed at Kreacher, the weight of Shelby steel pressing down on the room.

The elf sneered right back, unimpressed, his contempt so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Polly folded her arms, smirking faintly at the stand-off.

Tommy flicked ash into the tray on the mantel, eyes never leaving Kreacher. "Her boys are my concern. Mine. No one else's. She knows it. And you'll do well to remember it. Bring them to me."

Kreacher's whole body vibrated with fury at the word "mine," his bony fingers curling into claws. For a long moment, he looked ready to spit hexes. Then, with a low hiss, he vanished on the spot, the pop of elf magic echoing like a gunshot.

Finn finally exhaled. "Tommy... What the fuck was that?"

Tommy replaced the cigarette between his lips and struck a match, the flare of fire lighting his face. He inhaled slowly, smoke curling in the tense silence.

"That," he said, dead calm, "was family business."

"Yes, but what is it?" Polly repeated the question because she had been over at the girl's place several times and never saw whatever that thing was.

"It's a house-elf bound to servitude to Harriett," Tommy said. "His name is Kreacher."

"A slave?!" Polly jolted.

Tommy just gave her that bland stare again. "It's complicated."

⚡

The knock on the door was brisk, sharp, and very much so, unmistakably Shelby. Ginny blinked owlishly when she opened it, hair mussed from wrangling Teddy in the bath, and gave Tommy a once-over like she wasn't quite sure if she should let him in or hex him on principle. Before she could make up her mind, Tom came barrelling across the little flat on chubby legs, curls bouncing, shouting at the top of his tiny lungs:

"Omi! Omi! Hi! Hi, Omi!"

Tommy crouched immediately, suit trousers creasing as he scooped the boy up with practiced ease. Tom wrapped his hands around his lapel and grinned up like his whole world had just walked through the door.

"Hello, my lad," Tommy said, quiet but warm, pressing a kiss to the boy's curls before glancing around the flat. Teddy was in the corner, trying to stuff a ragged bit of toy broomstick into his mouth while glaring like an old man caught mid-nap. The full moon was coming up and it was making him cranky.

From the kitchen came the unmistakable sound of cupboard doors banging. Ginny leaned on the frame and jerked her chin that way. "Kreacher's been... busy," she muttered.

Tommy's jaw ticked. "Aye. He came to me house. Told me Harri asked him to fetch the lads to me. Then decided he didn't feel like doing his job. Stood in me parlor spitting insults, left without bringing me the boys. That sounds right to you?"

Ginny groaned and dragged a hand down her face. "So that's what it was. He shoved his fingers in the bloody oven door. I thought he'd gone round the twist. Must've been sulking."

A crash sounded from the kitchen. Tommy turned his head, slowly.

Kreacher emerged, glaring with unholy fury, a tea towel wrapped around one gnarly hand like a bandage. He muttered darkly under his breath, ignoring Tommy entirely as he picked up Teddy with surprising gentleness.

"Little masters will be bathed in filth if left to the muggle," Kreacher hissed. "Mistress deserves better. Mistress deserves—"

Tommy cut across, voice low and even. "Careful, elf."

Kreacher's bulging eyes snapped up to him, hate practically dripping out of his pores. "Muggle dares—"

But Tom wriggled in Tommy's arms, laid his tiny hand on Tommy's face, and chirped, "Omi mine."

Something flickered in Ginny's eyes then. She smirked faintly at Kreacher. "Looks like the heirs already decided, hasn't he? Might wanna clean your fingers in the oven again, Kreach, if you can't stand the sight of it."

Kreacher made a strangled noise, clutching his towel-wrapped hand like a wound to his pride, and stormed back into the kitchen.

Tommy adjusted Tom against his chest and looked back at Ginny. "She'll not like it when she finds out he ignored her orders. You'll tell her?"

Ginny snorted. "Oh, I'll tell her. Might even make popcorn."

For the first time that day, Tommy's lips twitched in something dangerously close to a smile.

"Get me their bags will you?" Tommy asked. Ginny nodded and walked to their bedroom.

Tommy looked down at Tom. "How's my boy doing?" He asked. Tom smiled at him.

"Ed pee on Auntie Gin," Tom said as if he were pointing out the obvious. "Auntie Gin screamed. Threw up her tummy."

"Ah," Tommy nodded. He saw John puke when his boy peed on him. No worse than the time Finn pissed on Arthur's mash and Arthur was so drunk he just thought the mash was watery and ate it anyway.

"Want to go see the horses?" Tommy asked. Tom perked up and began furiously nodding his head.

"Urly! Urly!"

In other words, seeing horses meant seeing Curly and the boys loved Curly.

⚡

Harri all but kicked the door shut behind her as she strode into the flat, the smell of roasted vegetables and broom polish hitting her nose at once. She had shed the robes from the Wizengamot session halfway home and looked like someone who'd survived a war council rather than a government proceeding.

Ginny was sprawled on the sofa with a book, bare feet kicked up on the armrest. She glanced up with a grin that was equal parts welcome-home and wait-til-you-hear-this.

"What?" Harri asked immediately, one brow lifting.

Ginny snapped the book shut with a sharp thwack. "Kreacher. That's what."

Harri groaned, pressing a hand over her face. "What did the little sadist do now?"

Ginny tried not to laugh but failed. "Didn't bring the boys to Tommy like you asked. Tommy showed up himself to get them, looking like he'd just walked out of a board meeting with Death himself. Said Kreacher refused. Just stood there insulting him. Then —you'll love this— he shoved his bloody fingers in the oven door. I thought he'd lost the plot, but no. Sulking."

Harri dropped onto the sofa beside her, hair in her face, and muttered, "I swear, he does this crap just so he can hurt himself. It's like he's in some kind of twisted pain competition. House-elves and their masochism. One of these days I'll—" She cut herself off and slumped back, glaring at the ceiling. "Kinky little bastard."

Ginny let out a bark of laughter, flopping sideways against her. "You're telling me. He's in the kitchen now pretending Tommy doesn't exist, nursing his hand like a martyr."

Harri groaned again, louder this time, dragging her palms down her face. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I'll go talk to him."

Harri got up and went into the kitchen. Ginny yelled out. "Can I watch?!"

"No!"

"Awe..."

⚡

The air above the Muggle bookshop stank of soot and cigarettes, but the kitchen smelled of heaven. Not food— pain. Kreacher's pain. Iron hissing against skin, the scent of scorched flesh curling into his crooked nostrils like incense. Mistress had ordered him to take the two little half-blood pups to the Muggle gangster. Kreacher had not. Kreacher had chosen the oven door instead, pressing his gnarled fingers into the iron until the metal sizzled. A proper offering. A proper punishment.

Bootsteps cracked across the boards—sharp, fast, Mistress's boots, always purposeful. The air went cold, a graveyard's breath rolling in before her.

"Enough." Her voice cracked like a whip.

Kreacher flinched, but did not move, his lips peeling back into a grimace that was not quite a smile. He savored the burn. "Filthy Kreacher disobeyed his Lady Mistress," he croaked, voice guttural with age and joy. "Filthy Kreacher wanted punishment. Filthy Kreacher deserved it."

She strode forward, hair catching the dull hearth glow like spilled blood with the way it blazed. She seized him by the scruff of his rag, jerking him from the oven with strength far too great for her small frame. He tumbled onto the floor, cradling his hands, eyes shining with an almost feverish delight.

"You think pain absolves you?" Her voice dropped low, dangerous. Shadows lengthened behind her like the fingers of the grave. "You think disobedience is forgiven because you burn yourself after?"

Kreacher whimpered and rocked on his haunches, though fear never touched him—only rapture. "Mistress is wrath and shadow. Mistress speaks and Death listens. Kreacher only wishes to please. Kreacher only wishes to suffer in her name."

Harri's stomach twisted, a familiar blend of pity and fury. Her fingers curled, and the shadows of the room stretched toward her, though she did it unconsciously. Kreacher shuddered, eyes rolling back for an instant, as though the very aura of her presence was its own punishment—and blessing.

Her nostrils flared. Kreacher's eyes fluttered. Even her aura hurt. Even her anger was a gift.

"You were told," she hissed, stepping closer, "to take Teddy and Tom to Thomas. You chose not to. You chose."

"Yes," Kreacher whispered, trembling with pleasure. "Kreacher chose pain. Kreacher wanted Mistress to see. And Kreacher does not approve of Mistress lying with a filthy Muggle gangster—"

The word snapped from his tongue like a whip crack. He wanted her to strike him. Wanted her to hiss back like the old Black mistresses. Wanted the Dark Lady to break him like a wand.

The sheer fanatic devotion in his tone made Harri's throat tighten. This was not mere servitude—it was worship, twisted by centuries of degradation and grief until only masochism and reverence remained. Though she also did not need her house elf's approval on her chosen partner either.

Instead, she crouched before him, cold eyes locked on his. "Do you think I need a broken elf to serve me? Do you think I am pleased when you harm yourself?"

His lips trembled. "Mistress commands. Mistress condemns. Mistress owns. Punishment is glory."

Her tone softened— just a little— but it was still stern. "No, Kreacher. Glory is obedience. Glory is trust. If you would honor me—if you would serve Death's will —you will obey. Not wound yourself like a fool. And do not think I need your approval on who I love either."

He whimpered, rocking harder, torn between the urge to obey and the urge to burn himself. Scarred fingers twitched for the oven again.

Then her hand, always cold hand— closed over his burned knuckles. Magic trickled from her skin, knitting just enough flesh to dull the worst of it. Kreacher shuddered violently, caught between ecstasy and torment.

"You belong to me," she said, her voice heavy yet still soft. "Not to your pain. To me. When I give an order, you obey. Or I will bind your hands in shadow until you cannot so much as lift a spoon. Do you understand me?"

He shook, bulbous eyes brimming. He heard something new in her voice— he heard the promise of denial in her tone. Harri normally forbids him from ever hurting himself, she was not a normal mistress. "Y-yes, Dark Lady. Kreacher understands. Kreacher lives to obey. Kreacher lives for his Mistress."

"Then prove it." Her tone snapped sharply again. "The next time I tell you to take the boys to Thomas, you do so. No hesitation. No games. Or I'll find you a punishment you will not enjoy."

Kreacher's heart lurched. Mistress had never spoken like that. Not to him. His nose pressed to the floor, ragged voice croaking: "Yes, Mistress. Kreacher obeys. Kreacher will obey. Kreacher swears on Mother Magic."

She straightened, her shadows stretching long across the kitchen. Kreacher stayed prostrate, trembling.

Harri's chest felt uncomfortably tight with the ache of pity and power when she walked away from him. She had won this round— but Kreacher's masochistic devotion was a battle she would fight again and again. He loved his suffering too much. He loved the thought of her using dark magic even more.

When Harri came back into the parlor, Ginny was still in her same position on the sofa. "So," Ginny drawled, "did you hex Kreacher yet, or just yell at him?"

"I yelled," Harri said flatly, shrugging out of her jacket. "He just stood there like I was reading him bedtime poetry. He only twitches when I call him a kinky little bastard—which, to be fair, he bloody well is. That's why he jammed his fingers in our oven door, Gin. He was punishing himself for not following my orders."

Ginny winced and then laughed, the sound sharp. "Of course he was. If it's not cutting his ears on glass, it's a bloody oven door. I don't know how you keep him alive."

Harri flopped down beside her, stretching out her legs with a groan. "Honestly? Sheer force of will. Mine, not his. I swear he's going to outlive me out of spite."

Ginny grinned, then glanced sidelong at her. "So. What was all that about with you and Hermione in London? Looked like you were being stalked by vultures when you came in."

"Oh, you'll love this," Harri said, voice dry. She pulled her legs up under herself and leaned closer. "We were intercepted—ambushed, really—by Menoetius Malfoy."

Ginny blinked, then snorted so hard she nearly toppled off the sofa. "Menoetius? Merlin's tits, of course he has a spare Greek tragedy shoved in his name. Bloody Malfoys—can't just stick with a Jack or a Cain, can they?" She then exaggerated the pronunciation with a pompous flourish, "Menoetiuuusss."

Harri barked out a laugh, throwing her head back. "Right? He introduced himself like he expected the whole bloody Ministry to applaud. And he wasn't alone. He had Tullius Nott and Marcus Avery with him."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "That sounds like the opening line to a very bad joke."

"Tell me about it. They were all smiles, like they hadn't just tried to stare me down in the lobby. Invited us to join their little circle of friends for tea."

Ginny arched a brow, lips twitching. "Tea. With Malfoys and Notts. Sounds less like tea and more like a cult initiation."

"Exactly what I thought." Harri gave a theatrical shudder. "I told Hermione I'd rather drink swamp water than sit in their parlor, but she was... diplomatic. Said we'd 'consider it.'"

Ginny groaned and buried her face in a cushion. "You're going to end up at tea with them, aren't you?"

Harri tilted her head back, glaring at the ceiling like it held the answer to all life's mistakes. "Probably." She then gave a slight sniff. "I'd rather let Hermione do the polite dancing and I will spend most of it pretending not to curse their shoes off."

From the kitchen, Kreacher muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Better company than Mudbloods," before banging a pot hard enough to make them jump.

"Oi!" Harri barked, sitting forward. "Don't think I can't hear you, Kreacher!"

Ginny snorted into the cushion, shoulders shaking. She has was still snickering when Harri leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "But then, I met Phineas Black."

Ginny blinked. "Phineas...?"

"The disowned one. Got cast out for supporting Muggle rights during the war." Harri's lips twitched like she was trying not to grin. "Gin, he's handsome. Looks just like Sirius—but bulkier. Broader. Like he could lift a bloody horse if he wanted."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "You're not serious—"

"Not Sirius," Harri quipped with a wicked smirk, then added, "but honestly, if I wasn't dating Tommy..." She trailed off, shrugging as if she hadn't just admitted she'd happily flirt with a man from her own family tree.

Ginny groaned, shoving Harri's shoulder. "Aren't you related to him?"

"Third great-uncle," Harri said, waving a hand like it was nothing. "We're in the past. Doesn't count."

Ginny's eyes widened further. "Doesn't count? Harri, he's my fourth great-uncle too! You can't just go around eyeing up our ancestors like they're candidates at the Yule Ball!"

Harri rolled her eyes dramatically. "Please, I've spent far too much time around purebloods to get squeamish about family lines."

Ginny snorted so loudly it made her cough. "Spoken like a woman who's been corrupted by too many bloody Blacks. You forget I'm a pureblood too, and even I think you're off your rocker."

Harri smirked smugly. "Pureblood, maybe. But you're still far too much of a Weasley to stomach it properly."

Ginny groaned again, flopping back against the cushions. "Merlin help me, you're impossible."

⚡

By the time Harri arrived at Charlie's yard, her hair was wind-snarled and her mood hovering somewhere between exasperation and relief. The air smelled of hay and iron, which she found much more preferable than the stench of the Wizengamot political wixen who honestly had such strange odors around them she felt like she was choking in a back alley French whore house or sipping tea with the king of England.

The first thing she heard was Tom's laughter; high and bubbling, and completely unrestrained. It pulled her across the paddock before she even knew she'd started moving.

Tom sat perched on a shaggy little pony, legs sticking out stiff as broom handles, tiny hands clenched tight around the saddle horn. His curls bounced as the animal plodded forward, guided steadily by Tommy walking at its head. Tommy's hand rested loose on the reins, and one hovering close, eyes never straying from the boy like he'd shoot anyone who so much as thought about letting him fall.

"Lean forward a bit, lad," Tommy said, calm and low. "That's it. Hold tight."

Tom's curls bounced as he giggled. "Omi! Omi! Go fast!"

"Not yet," Tommy murmured, lips twitching at the corners. "We'll walk first."

Charlie was leaning up against a fence post, sleeves rolled, arms folded, the picture of a man who'd seen it all and wasn't fussed by much. Beside him, Curly had Teddy's basket perched on an upturned bucket, keeping the baby shaded with his big frame. Teddy gurgled and cooed, stuffing a fist in his mouth — never mind the puddle of saliva he was collecting.

Harri stopped dead at the fence, blinking. Her heart did something ridiculous in her chest, half-squeeze, half-flutter. For a moment, she only watched—Tommy Shelby, of all bloody people, walking patiently beside a shaggy pony while her little Tom grinned like the sun had come down to ride with him.

She tore her gaze away and turned on Charlie. "Where in Merlin's name did the pony come from?"

Charlie's brows quirked, amused. He jerked his chin toward Tommy. "Ask your man there."

Harri frowned, looking back. "You bought a pony?"

Tommy didn't look the least bit guilty. His voice was calm, steady. "Aye. For the boy."

Her mouth opened, she didn't know if she was ready to scold or argue or kiss him — But Tom shouted at the top of his lungs, grinning down at her. "Mummy! Mummy! His name Art!"

"Art?" Harri repeated, baffled.

"Art," Tom said firmly, as if that explained everything. He patted the pony's scruffy mane, face full of pride. "For Uncle Arthur! 'Cause he got sad face like Uncle Arthur. Long face. Sad face. Art."

Charlie burst out laughing, folding over the fence rail, while Curly snorted so hard Teddy startled in his basket. Even Tommy's lips twitched, just a flicker at the corner.

Harri pressed a hand to her mouth, trying— and failing— not to laugh herself. "Oh, Merlin's beard."

Tom leaned forward, whisper-shouting down at her like it was a great secret. "Don't tell Uncle Arthur! He get cross if he know he got pony face."

That was it— Charlie wheezed with laughter, Curly had to turn away, and even Tommy couldn't quite smother the hint of a smile as he kept the pony plodding forward.

Harri shook her head, torn between exasperation and an ache in her chest so warm it hurt. She looked at Tommy. "You... bought my baby a pony."

Tommy's gaze held hers, blue and steady. "Figured he'll grow into it. The lad should have a proper start. Both of them should."

Tommy then stopped the pony, lifted Tom down with practiced ease, and set him on his feet. Then he straightened, fixing those blue eyes on her. Tom tugged at his trouser leg, babbling about going again, but Tommy's gaze stayed locked on her as he bent, scooping Tom back up against his chest. "Come on, lad. Let's get you a drink of water then let's give your mum a turn seeing you ride."

Tom clapped his little hands, crowing with delight, while Harri stood there, floored, caught between laughter and the urge to hex Tommy Shelby straight into next week.

Harri watched Tom be delighted at learning to ride a horse which made him a lot braver than her. She knew though that she was going to finally end up on one today when she agreed to go riding with Tommy. 

Curly finally unfolded himself from the bucket, brushing straw off his trousers. "Alright then, Ma-Master T-Tom. Let's see if you can steer without To-Tommy dragging you round like a milk cart." He took the reins from Tommy with a grin, and Tom squealed in delight as Curly clucked the pony forward.

"Go, Art! Go!" Tom shouted, bouncing in the saddle.

"Not too-too fast?" Curly called, though his grin said he'd been waiting his whole life to teach a little one to ride. Teddy babbled from his basket as though cheering them on.

Tommy dusted his hands, then turned to Harri. "Come with me."

There was no room for argument in his tone, but there was no threat either. Just steady certainty, like he already knew she would. Harri followed him across the yard, through the worn wood doors of the stables.

The air inside was rich with hay and leather oil. And there— standing in the second stall— was the most beautiful chestnut mare she'd ever seen. Sleek, bright-eyed, her coat shone like polished copper in the slanted afternoon light. She tossed her head, and the stall door creaked under her eager weight.

Harri stopped short, eyes widening. "Tommy...?"

He didn't hesitate, just moved to stroke the mare's neck with a rare gentleness. "She's yours," he said simply.

Harri blinked hard, throat tightening.

Tommy's black stallion, Dangerous, nickered from the stall beside them, pushing his head through the bars until his nose nudged against the mare's shoulder. She bumped back, friendly, almost playful.

Harri gave a small, stunned laugh. "Well, look at that. Must be fate. Your horse likes mine... same as we do."

She meant it as a joke, a light to cover the way her heart hammered. But Tommy's eyes caught hers, unwavering. "It's a Gypsy omen," he said, voice low, sure. "Means it's meant to be."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She tried to scoff, tried to roll her eyes—but it fell apart on her tongue. Instead, she stepped close, took his lapel in her hand, and kissed him.

The kiss deepened before Harri even thought to stop it, his mouth firm, hungry, pulling every bit of air out of her chest. Her hand curled tighter in his lapel, the other braced against his chest. Tommy slid his palm up her waist, steady but insistent, steering her backward until the world blurred.

Her shoulders hit the wooden wall of the empty stall. The mare across the aisle snorted, shifting her weight, but Harri didn't care—Tommy was there, pinning her, all smoke and iron and the steady press of his body against hers.

"Tommy—" she started, breathless.

"Harri," he cut her off, voice low and rough as gravel, right against her lips. Then he kissed her again, deeper, hotter, like he'd been waiting too long and wasn't about to waste another second.

His hand slid to her hip, fingers tightening through the fabric of her robes, urging her closer. She gasped against his mouth, heat flooding through her. He tasted of tobacco and salt and something unshakably his, and she hated how much she wanted more.

"You bought me a horse," she whispered when he let her breathe, eyes darting up to his with a kind of dazed incredulity.

Tommy's lips quirked, the smallest, most dangerous smile. "Aye. And I'll buy you a hundred more if it keeps you kissing me like that."

Her laugh caught in her throat when he pressed forward, caging her between the stall wall and his body, his mouth trailing hot down her jaw to her throat. She arched involuntarily, her fingers clutching at his shoulders, nails scraping his shirt.

The creak of the stable boards beneath their feet only made it worse—more urgent. Somewhere outside, Curly's voice floated in, coaching Tom about his "pony Art," but it was distant, unreal, like a world that wasn't theirs.

Tommy's mouth crushed back onto hers, the kind of kiss that stripped away thought and left only heat. His hands weren't idle— one splayed possessively at her hip, the other sliding up beneath her skirts, rough fingers against bare skin. Harri gasped into him, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, letting him press her harder into the wall of the stall.

Her leg lifted instinctively, wrapping around his hip. He caught it, lifted it higher, groaned low against her throat as his body pressed flush to hers. Every grind of him against her had her biting back sounds that would've echoed through the rafters.

"Fuck, Harri..." he rasped, voice hot and broken in a way she'd never heard. He kissed down her neck, teeth scraping, lips trailing fire, until she was trembling. His hand slid lower, under her thigh, urging her higher—claiming her as surely as if they'd already crossed the line.

She tilted her head back, half-wild, whispering his name like a prayer and a curse all at once. Her fingers found his hair, tugging him closer. She could feel him, hard and insistent against her, and she wanted—Merlin, she wanted—

He shifted, one hand fumbling at his belt as he ground against her, stealing every last breath she had.

And then—

SPLASH!

"Bloody hell—!" Charlie's voice roared outside, followed instantly by Tom's sharp, panicked wail.

Harri shoved Tommy back, the spell between them snapping like a live wire cut short. Both of them froze, hearts pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Tommy swore under his breath, already moving. Harri dropped her legs, yanking her dress down, and the two of them bolted out of the stall together.

The sight in the yard made Harri's stomach lurch: the water trough by the fence was tipped, sloshing all over the ground, and Charlie was struggling to pull a soaked, wailing Tom upright. The boy coughed, hiccuped, and clung like a limpet to Charlie's shirt.

"TOM!" Harri cried, sprinting the last few steps, heart in her throat.

"Come here, love, I've got you," Harri murmured, taking Tom gently from Charlie's arms. The little boy was shaking, hiccuping against her shoulder, curls plastered to his forehead. She rubbed his back in slow circles, rocking on her feet like instinct, whispering soft reassurances in his ear.

Charlie looked pale but steady, water dripping down his sleeves. "I turned my back for a second—"

"You were supposed to be watching him!" Tommy barked, voice like a whip crack. He strode across the yard, every inch of him furious, blue eyes like steel. "I told you both— watch our son! And now look at him!"

Harri's head snapped toward him, words caught in her throat. Our son.

Her heart lurched, painfully tender. In the middle of Tom's wet sobs and Charlie's stammered defense, she realized— clear as day— that she loved Thomas Shelby.

"Tommy," she whispered, startled and aching all at once.

He glanced at her, still bristling, ready to tear into Charlie again, but the look on her face must've stopped him cold.

Harri kissed Tom's curls, whispering, "Shh, you're safe, baby. Mummy's here," then glanced back at Tommy, her eyes shining.

He swallowed hard, jaw working, but he said nothing—just reached out, brushing his knuckles down Tom's wet cheek before pulling his hand back quickly, as if the touch burned.

Tommy bent down without a word, lifting Teddy from the basket. The baby blinked up at him, wide-eyed and curious, as if the commotion hadn't bothered him at all. Tommy shifted him onto his arm with the same quiet confidence he used in a boardroom, then jerked his head for the rest of them to follow.

Harri cradled Tom against her shoulder as they walked toward the motorcar parked at the edge of the yard. The boy was still babbling through sniffles, little hiccupping bursts of sound that only she seemed to understand.

"'M wet—an' cold—an' pony Art—no water—" Tom mumbled miserably, face blotchy.

"I know, love," Harri soothed, brushing his curls off his damp forehead. "We'll get you dry, hmm? New clothes and warm tea."

But when they reached the car and she set him down on the running board to rummage for his bag, Tom sniffled once more, then turned his watery gaze straight to Tommy. "Want you," he said, arms lifting.

The words startled her almost as much as they seemed to hit Tommy. For a breath he just stood there, still holding Teddy, unreadable. Then he passed the baby carefully into Harri's free arm, bent low, and scooped Tom up without a murmur.

The boy clung like a barnacle, pressing his wet cheek against Tommy's shoulder. Tommy's hand, broad and steady, cupped the back of his head, shielding him as if the whole world might break in if he didn't.

Harri's throat tightened. She'd thought the horse had undone her earlier, but this... this was something else entirely.

"I suppose the riding's off for today," she said quietly, watching Tom finally settle, his little sniffles easing now that he was tucked against Tommy's chest.

Tommy met her gaze over the boy's curls, gave a sharp little nod. "Aye. They've had enough excitement today. We'll go home. To mine."

Harri held Teddy closer as she got slid into the car from the driver's side, wondering how on earth she was supposed to keep from falling even harder.

⚡

The boys had disappeared into the garden with John's brood, it was alive with noise. John's kids tore across the patchy grass in a flurry of arms and legs, Tom right in the middle of it, his curls bouncing as he tried to keep up with the older boys. Teddy was gurgling happily from Polly's lap. For the first time all afternoon, Harri let her shoulders drop, content to watch from Tommy's back steps with a cup of tea warming her palms. A faint smile played on her lips despite herself as she watched Tom shriek with joy when he managed to tag one of his "cousins" as Esme and John kept insisting. She'd grown used to the sound of small feet and shrieks, but seeing Tom like this—cheeks flushed, no shadows under his eyes— it felt like a small miracle.

Tommy stood just behind her, silent, lighting a cigarette. The sharp scent of tobacco curled through the doorway. He wasn't watching her; he was watching the children, his expression unreadable but focused, the way he looked at a horse he was about to bet on or a deal he was about to make.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Then Tommy said, "You should move in with me."

Harri choked on her tea, tearing her gaze from the children. "What?"

He took a drag from the cigarette, eyes still on the yard. "You. The boys. With me."

"Tommy..." She let out a startled laugh. "We've only just started this. Whatever this is."

He shifted, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. "There's no room in Watery Lane for you and the boys. It's cramped, too many eyes, too much talk," he said flatly, as if she hadn't spoken. Another drag, another slow exhale. "I've been looking at houses. Bigger ones outside of town. They'll have everything they need. And I'll know you're safe."

Her heart thudded. "You've been... looking for houses?"

He finally turned his head, meeting her eyes. "You think I do things by halves?"

She swallowed hard, heat rising in her cheeks. "Tommy—"

He turned to her, sharp as ever. "I don't want you squeezed in somewhere temporarily. I want you and the boys with me. Properly."

She blinked at him, heat rising in her cheeks. "Isn't that a bit early to be talking about moving in?"

He turned to look at her, eyes narrowed against the smoke curling from his cigarette. "I don't waste time, Harri. Not with business, not with family. Not with you. I want you. Only you."

Her breath caught. He said it like a declaration, not a plea. Her fingers tightened on her teacup. "You... you called Tom your son earlier," she said, almost stammering, as if testing the weight of the words.

Tommy didn't blink. "Well, he is my son. They both are. Same as you're me woman. That boy wanted me to hold him when he was upset. He'll want it again. And I'll be there, every time."

The words slammed into her, blunt and certain. Her fingers tightened around her teacup, trying to ground herself. "Tommy, you can't just—"

"I can," he said simply, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the dirt. "And I have."

She shook her head, laughing nervously, but it sounded small. "You're impossible. We've barely been doing this a month—"

His eyes softened, just a fraction, but his voice stayed steady. "I know what I want, Harri. And I don't want to waste time. Not with you. Not with them."

Her throat tightened. Her heart stumbled in her chest, and she hated how much she wanted to believe it. She hated how much sense it made, how safe it sounded, even if it terrified her all the same.

Tom let out a victorious yell, the children giggled and Teddy squealed, Polly laughing at the baby's delight. The sound should have been comforting, but it only made Harri's chest ache more.

She turned to Tommy, voice quieter now. "Do you... Do you love me, Thomas Shelby?"

His mouth twitched, the barest ghost of a smile, and then he gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Don't be daft, my Darling," he said, stepping closer until she could feel the warmth of him. His eyes locked onto hers, blue and unflinching. "Of course I fucking love you."

It wasn't soft, or flowery, or rehearsed. It was Tommy Shelby— flat, rough, and absolutely undeniable. And standing on the threshold with the smell of tea and tobacco between them, Harri realized it was exactly what she'd needed to hear.

Chapter Text

"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope,"

— Jane Austen,
Persuasion

⚡

The bakery looked the same as it had last week when she came with Tommy: a worn brick building, sharp with the scent of smoke and yeast. Not the warm yeasty comfort of fresh bread she'd half expected— no, it was an odd mix of flour, smoke, and dog. And rum. Definitely rum. And it was bustling with men who looked more like soldiers than bakers.

But this time there was no Tommy to shield her from Alfie Solomons's full attention.

Hermione squared her shoulders, tightening her grip on her satchel, and walked straight into his office.

"Ah, fuckin' hell, you're early," he barked when she stepped into his office, his accent rough as gravel. He was hunched over a desk littered with ledgers, half-empty glasses, and a tray of what she sincerely hoped were biscuits and not something more sinister. When he looked up she realized he had been expecting someone else.

"Bloody hell," Alfie muttered. "What, they're sendin' you alone now?" He shoved aside a heap of ledgers with his cane, making space on the desk with a gesture so grand it bordered on mockery. "Come in then, sit down. Let's see what we've got, eh?"

Hermione sat carefully across from him, ignoring Cyril, his massive dog, who gave a lazy growl and thumped his tail against the floor.

Hermione stiffened, clutching her satchel a little tighter. "I believe punctuality is a virtue."

Alfie's sharp blue eyes began glittering. His beard twitched, just shy of a grin. "Virtue, she says. Christ alive, listen to you. Punctuality's just turnin' up before I've had me tea, innit? Which makes it a bloody nuisance, not a virtue."

Hermione drew herself up, determined not to be rattled. "Thomas Shelby asked me to help with your books. If that's inconvenient—"

"Nah, nah, sit down." He said again as he gestured broadly, almost knocking a glass to the floor. "I like a nuisance. Keeps me sharp."

She sat across from him, pulling parchment and pencils from her bag. He watched her, head cocked like a crow sizing up something shiny.

"Mr. Shelby said you needed the accounts checked. That's what I'm here for," She said. "I was in the city and thought I might as well get on with it now."

Alfie leaned back in his chair, studying her with that hawkish blue stare of his. "Right. So you're a clever girl, then," he said after a beat. "The woman with all the brains. Tommy tells me, 'Alfie, she's wasted sittin' on her arse readin' books. Put her to work.' And here you are, yeah? Workin' for me."

"I'm not working for you," Hermione corrected quickly, flipping open one of his ledgers. The handwriting was appalling—half-smeared numbers, notes in Yiddish she barely recognized, random drawings of what looked like angry chickens. "I'm helping... to... to keep things or-orderly."

Alfie leaned back in his chair, grin widening. "Orderly. Ohhh, that's good. You hear that, Cyril? She thinks she can make order outta this." He waved a hand at the chaos of papers, bottles, and crumbs. "Miracle worker, this one."

Hermione pressed her lips together and ignored him, though her ears were already pink.

"And Tommy also said—what was it—' She's family, Alfie, you treat her like she's me blood or I'll carve your heart out'? Something like that, yeah."

Hermione rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. "That does sound like him."

"Yeah," Alfie said, his beard twitching with amusement. "So I suppose I'd better not frighten ya. Not too much, anyway. Bad for business if you go runnin' back screamin', eh?"

"I don't scream," Hermione said crisply. "... What the hell am I looking at?" She murmured to herself.

He barked a laugh, sharp and delighted. "Oh, don't you? We'll see about that."

For the first hour, Hermione worked in silence, pencil scratching while Alfie shuffled through papers and muttered under his breath. His books were a mess: numbers scratched in shorthand, half of them coded, the rest scattered with doodles she could only assume were Cyril. Every so often, Alfie's gaze would flick toward her, watching her brow furrow deeper and deeper as she tried to untangle it all.

"Your handwriting is appalling," she said finally, without looking up.

"Oi," Alfie said, leaning forward on his elbows. "That's character, that is. Bit of artistry. Any monkey can write neat little numbers, yeah, but this—" he jabbed a finger at the scrawl "—this is fuckin' poetry."

Hermione raised her head at that, one eyebrow arched so perfectly it made Alfie grin outright. "Poetry?"

"Yeah. Chaos, love. It's got rhythm, see? A bit of mystery. Keeps the coppers guessin'. You should be grateful, really—gives you somethin' to do."

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. "It's nonsense, that's what it is."

"Same thing," Alfie said, smug as a cat who got the cream.

For the next hour, she worked through the ledgers, asking sharp questions when numbers didn't add up. Alfie answered some, dodged others, and spun long, meandering stories that may or may not have had anything to do with her queries.

At one point he leaned across the table, pointing at a column of figures. His sleeve brushed her wrist, and Hermione startled at the unexpected warmth of his skin.

"You're good with this, yeah?" he murmured, close enough that she could smell flour and whiskey on his breath. "All these numbers... It's attractive, that."

Hermione's pencil snapped.

She cleared her throat sharply, refusing to meet his gaze. "I am here to help Shelby Brothers Incorporated, nothing more."

Alfie sat back, laughing so loudly that Cyril huffed in annoyance. "Oh, you're bloody terrified of me, ain't you? Look at ya—spine all stiff, like I'm about to bite. Don't worry, luv, I only bite people who deserve it."

Hermione inhaled deeply through her nose. She would not rise to his bait. She would not. Merlin, she wished she had just gone home after the Wizengamot meeting, like Harri did, instead of coming here. She had had enough of posturing for the day. Though she hated to admit that Alfred Solomons was really nice to look at. The scarring made him look... Well made him look manly.

By midday, she'd sorted through three ledgers, drafted a proper inventory list, and discovered no fewer than seven creative methods Alfie had used to disguise transactions. She eyed him across the table.

"These notes are in code—" she began.

"Trade secrets," he cut in smoothly.

"They're sloppy," she said instead, watching his eyes narrow just slightly. "If the police ever looked too closely—"

"They don't," he interrupted again. "And if they did, right, I'd just bribe the bastards. That's how the world works, love. Bit o' coin, bit o' fear, and everyone looks the other way."

Hermione's jaw tightened. "That's corruption."

"It's called survival, luv." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Don't go thinkin' your precious little police is pure as driven snow, sweetheart. They just hide it better. Me, at least I'm honest about bein' a crook."

To her dismay, Hermione found herself... not entirely disagreeing. She hated that.

By midday, she had sorted three books, drafted a clear list of supplies, and circled no less than seventeen suspicious transactions that Alfie immediately tried to wave off.

"That's sugar," he said vaguely.

Hermione peered at him over the top of the page. "You wrote powder and underlined it."

"Yeah. Powdered sugar."

"Really?"

Alfie tapped his cane against the desk and flashed a grin that showed just enough teeth to make it dangerous. "Really. You want to come down to the cellar, luv, check the bags yourself?"

Hermione's cheeks went hot, and she hated it. "No, thank you. I'll take your word for it."

"Wise," he murmured, clearly pleased at her fluster.

The hours stretched. Alfie, to her surprise, didn't interfere much once he realized she wasn't intimidated. Instead, he watched her, leaning back in his chair, head tilted as though she were some puzzle he was half-amused to solve.

"You're not like the rest of 'em," he said finally, breaking the quiet.

Hermione glanced up, wary. "The rest of who?"

"The Shelbys. You, though—" his hand made a vague gesture in the air. "You shine a bit brighter. Bit dangerous, that. Makes people greedy."

Hermione's pencil stilled. For a heartbeat, she forgot to breathe.

So she did what she always did: deflected. "Or perhaps I just don't spend my life surrounded by ledgers written like ransom notes."

Alfie barked out a laugh, startling Cyril. "Sharp little tongue on ya. Fuck, I like that."

Hermione looked down quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed the faint color rising in her cheeks.

The late afternoon wore on. Alfie tested her patience with jokes and sideways compliments; Hermione countered with crisp corrections and pointed silences. Yet somewhere between the insults and the numbers, an odd rhythm formed. She pushed; he yielded. He prodded; she parried. Like a dance neither of them admitted to.

When she finally closed the last book, her shoulders ached and her fingers were ink-stained, but the accounts were legible, neat, and far more transparent than before.

"Well?" she asked, brushing flour dust off her skirt that somehow got on it from just sitting in the office.

Alfie watched her pack up with something almost like admiration, though he disguised it with a lopsided grin. "Not bad for a first day, luv. Thought you'd run screamin' before dinner. But here you are— still sittin' across from me, lookin' at me like you want to throttle me."

Hermione smoothed her clothes, chin lifted. "I told you. I'm only here for Mr. Shelby. Don't mistake that for anything else."

Alfie tapped his cane against the floor, eyes glinting. "Course... Only for Tommy." He then looked at the organized stacks, then at her, then back again. For once he didn't crack a joke. Instead, he nodded slowly, almost grudgingly. "You've got a brain on you. Don't let Tommy waste it."

Hermione straightened her satchel, chin high. "I'll decide what to do with my own brain, thank you very much."

Alfie grinned, wide and wolfish. "Good girl."

She paused, pulse jumping despite herself. She shook it off quickly and made it halfway to the door before he added, "See you tomorrow, eh?"

Hermione hesitated. Just for a heartbeat. Then: "Yes."

Alfie chuckled low, satisfied, as the door shut behind her.

And Hermione told herself firmly all the way back to Small Heath: He's a gangster. A criminal. You are not charmed by him.

But somewhere deep down, she knew she was lying.

⚡

Luna had another episode which led to Harri leaving her children at Watery Lane with Tommy despite her wanting nothing more than to stay with them — especially after Tommy confessed to loving her. Thankfully, Esme said she would come with Harri to keep things "civil".

Polly had been having a tough go at it over the last few months due to her believing her child was dead and the only reason she hadn't quite fallen off the wagon was because she spent so much time with Tom and Teddy and the girls. They didn't let Polly fall into the deep pit of despair. Luna had told Harri that in another life, Polly would have been going through a mental breakdown since they weren't supposed to be there.

But Luna knew Polly was going to attempt suicide in her grief someday soon after seeing that con artist again.

Harri was used to grief and loss. She didn't have the means to save her family in the past but now she does. Harri had grown to love Polly and all the Shelbys. If she can save Polly— she damn well will.

The Black Patch had always been wild ground. Even in the daylight, smoke curled from campfires and shadows stretched long against crooked wagons with tarps strung with rope. Children darted between the dogs, women stirred pots over flames, the metallic clang of pots and the low hum of a fiddle drifting from somewhere deep inside and the men eyed any outsider like they'd already stolen something.

Harri strode in beside Esme. Her eyes were cold, and her jaw set. She hadn't told Tommy what she was coming here for — she didn't need his permission. This was between her and the Lees. Eyes were already following her with suspicion but Harri didn't care.

Esme muttered under her breath, "You're walkin' straight into a wasp's nest, you know, comin' here like this. They don't take kindly to bein' called out in front of their own."

"I don't take kindly to liars." Harri's voice was flat, but the cold in her tone could have frozen fire. "Your bitch of a cousin who conned Polly — I'll not let her go on frightening folk with her cheap tricks. She made the mistake of telling Polly her daughter Anna was dead."

Esme winced. "I told her she was daft for that."

"She's not just daft. She's cruel. Anna Gray is not dead. I know where she is. I know where Michael is too. Hermione and I've been digging since we learned how those kids were stolen from her. And Polly's been drinking herself sick because of that hag. Besides, why do you think I asked you to come? You're a fucking Lee."

Esme let out a huff. "I'm a Shelby now... I can't save you."

"I don't need saving. I just need to speak to your mother."

By the time they reached the largest wagon, the whole camp seemed to have gone still. Esme's mother, a hard-faced woman with coins sewn into her scarf, stepped out with her arms folded, "What's this noise you're bringin' into my camp, Esme? Who's this woman?"

"Harriett Peverell," Harri said before Esme could speak, her voice cutting through the air like glass. "I'm here on business of my own as a favor to Polly Gray."

That made a ripple go through the crowd. The woman's eyes narrowed, suspicion and curiosity warring. "Then you've come for a reason. Speak it."

"I want the fortune-teller." Harri's voice carried, low but sharp, like a knife dragged along a whetstone. "The one who saw her daughter Anna's ghost."

A murmur passed among the women, and after a moment a thin figure shuffled forward. The seer — all scarves, bangles, and smoke-stained fingers. She bowed her head slightly, but her eyes glittered with cunning. "What is it you want with me?"

"You lied." Harri's words cracked like a whip.

The so-called seer, flinched with a smug smirk barely hiding the twitch of nerves. "I told her what I saw," the woman said lightly, chin tilted high. "A spirit, lost to her. Her Anna walks beyond the veil. I cannot help it if the truth brings her sorrow."

"You fed Polly Gray a tale," Harri pressed, stepping closer. "You frightened her. Made her believe you could see what you cannot."

The seer straightened, defiant now that the eyes of the clan were on her. "It is not a lie. I see what others cannot."

"Don't." Harri's voice dropped, dangerous and quiet. "Don't insult me with that nonsense."

Harri stepped forward, and the crowd instinctively parted for her, she moved like a storm barely leashed. "You don't know truth. You don't even know fear."

The seer scoffed, trying for bravado. "And you do?"

Harri kept her glare fixed on the woman. And then — in a motion smooth as breathing — she raised her hand. Fire bloomed in her palm, a sudden flicker of raw, impossible flame dancing just above her skin.

Gasps broke out. A child screamed. Men swore, crossing themselves, and the older women muttered prayers under their breath. Even Esme's mother recoiled a step, eyes wide.

"I do." Harri's voice was calm, too calm. She let the fire burn hungrily in her palm. "You play at visions. I deal in truths. And this is the truth: if you or anyone in this camp tries to pull your cheap tricks on Polly Gray, or any Shelby, or any Blinder..." Her eyes hardened, green as cut glass. "I'll come back. And I'll do worse than light a fire."

The seer trembled, all her bravado gone, staring at the flame like it were her death sentence.

"Anna Gray is not dead. I know exactly where she is. I know where Michael is. You told Polly otherwise because you thought it'd keep her weak. Because you profit off grief."

The seer's face went pale, lips parting.

Harri's eyes narrowed, she leaned in just enough for only the woman to hear: "If you ever speak of her children again — if you ever put that grief back on her shoulders — I'll make sure you feel every ghost you've ever lied about. Do you understand me?"

A thick silence fell. Even Esme's mother looked shaken.

The seer nodded once, barely a movement.

Harri snapped her hand shut. The fire winked out, leaving only smoke curling from her fingers. "Good," She said.

Then she straightened, calm as if she hadn't just terrified half the camp, but the memory of it seemed to hang in the air like a heavy shadow thick with oppressing weight.

Esme's mother cleared her throat, trying to reclaim control. "We won't cross you again."

Harri gave a sharp nod. "See that you don't. If you insist on playing your games, play them somewhere else."

For a moment, no one moved. Then Esme's mother inclined her head, just slightly — not surrender, but a quiet acknowledgement. "You've got fire in you, girl. A proper Romani spirit, even if you've no Romani blood."

Harri's mouth curled in a humorless smile. She turned on her heel and strode back out of the camp, leaving the Lees to whisper in her wake.

Esme hurried after her. "You're lucky you didn't get shot!" She hissed.

"I don't imagine Tommy would be pleased," Harri said dryly.

Esme looked horrified as if she had just realized that Tommy would have started a bloody war just for Harri getting a knick.

⚡️

Things were going smoothly with Tommy. Too smoothly, Harri paranoidly thought, but was unwilling to question it. Nothing in her life had ever gone smoothly without snapping sharply a moment later. But she didn't question it. Couldn't. Not when Tommy Shelby had folded her into his shadow like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She'd thought being his secretary would be dull. But she liked it more than she expected. Better than grime under her nails and blood on her hands. Better than what she'd been before. At least she wasn't smelling horse shite in her nose and carrying the stench on her clothes anymore.

They were practically inseparable when Tommy wasn't running the streets outside the Den. Tommy picked her up first thing in the morning. He waited for her to kiss Tom goodbye, leaning against her kitchen counter with that quiet patience that made her stomach twist. He would ruffle Tom's hair in his own goodbye. Teddy, still clutching his blanket, would raise his little fist and unclench his fingers in a wave towards them. It had become their routine, and it filled something hollow in her chest that she didn't want to name.

At midday, they often came back to her flat for lunch. She would make them sandwiches, stew, whatever she had on hand, and Tommy would watch her through hooded eyes like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Sometimes those lunches ended with her against the counter, his mouth hot and insistent on hers, his hips pressing her into the wood. She'd thought the first kiss had been a mistake — too rushed, too much. Now she knew it was only the beginning.

Then she would end up on the counter, his hips between her knees, much like the first time they kissed. Only this time Harri held him tighter, teeth clashing with his in hurried desperation. She was getting better at kissing Tommy. Better at letting go. Better at letting his hands find her waist, and wander her thighs, and her ribs. As long as they didn't slip under her skirts. She wasn't ready for that.

But God, how she wanted.

"Tommy—" She broke against his mouth, moaning when she felt the hard press of his bulge against her stomach.

The wanting grew harder to hide.

She moaned against him, helpless, when his hand locked around the back of her neck, a grip that was more claim than comfort. It made her shudder, not with fear, but with something hotter, sharper.

"Are you ready now?" Tommy's voice was low, breath ragged, tugging her hair just the right bloody way, making her eyes roll back as heat flared low in her belly. His voice was smoke and gravel, burning through every ounce of her resistance. It dragged a sound from her throat she didn't want him to hear.

She wasn't. Not yet. And the thought of it scared her more than she dared admit. Aunt Petunia's cruel words haunted her still about the ugliness of it — painful, always painful, something you endure, not enjoy. Harri wanted Tommy, she wanted to be brave for him, but she couldn't bear the idea of their first time being anything less than something that unraveled her in pleasure. She didn't want that. Not with Tommy.

"No." The word slipped out on a sigh, and she started to move, to ease away before she drove him mad more than she already had.

But his hands were faster. He caught her wrists, pinning them just enough to keep her still. His eyes clear, steel-blue, and unyielding burned down into hers.

"Where do you think you're goin', eh?" His voice was rough with want. "You're not fuckin' ready, doesn't mean I can't kiss my woman."

Her breath caught. The way he said it — my woman — had her heart stumbling in her chest. Every time he said she was always surprised. It felt like a little part of her was healing every single time. She was wanted... She was loved...

She grinned despite herself, heat creeping up her throat."Is that all I am?" She cheekily asked.

"There's my girl," he murmured, and the pride in his voice nearly undid her. He let go of one wrist, but only to cup her jaw, thumb dragging against her lip before tilting her face up. "Kiss me again, Harriett. So beautiful..."

Her lips parted, and she gave in, kissing him with every ounce of longing she couldn't put into words. His mouth slanted over hers, claiming, demanding, until she was pliant against him. He traced her scars with calloused fingers.

When he pulled back, he didn't let go of her. Instead, he brushed his mouth along the scars on her cheek, on her neck. She stiffened at first, always did — but he kissed them anyway.

She hated the pale ridges they had always felt like ice under every other touch. But he didn't flinch. Didn't hesitate. He pressed his mouth to them reverently, unknowingly soothing pain that lingered even years later. Each press of his lips burned away the shame, like he could make her forget she ever wanted to hide.

She melted. Every time he touched her, she melted, and every time he looked at her like this.

"Beautiful," he muttered against her skin, like it was fact, not argument.

Tommy's breath brushed her ear as his lips hovered there, voice low and raw. "You're mine, Harri. Don't care how long it takes. I'll wait. But don't you ever think I don't want you."

She shivered, fingers curling in his shirt, torn between fear and need, caught in the dangerous truth of it. She hated how easily she melted, hated that she let herself rest against him like he was something safe. She didn't trust safe. Never had.

But with him... she wanted to.

His rose was thorny, but she was beautiful.

And so was the way he made her feel.

⚡️

The headlines had made a bonfire out of her life. Lady Peverell was everywhere — in print and in whispered rumors. The Witch Weekly screamed the most lurid versions in garish fonts:

Lady Peverell and Sister Visit friends in London!

 

Lady Peverell shops in Muggle district of Small Heath, Birmingham?

 

Peverell Sister Ginerva Granger goes Rabid!

 

Guns versus wands? Peverell sister Ginerva takes a revolver from a Muggle. A lover, perhaps?

Each rag that came through the door was worse than the last. Harri had taken to piling them up on the counter like kindling, striking matches beneath their lies.

She slammed another copy into the bin by habit, and the magazine flared. The paper hissed and blackened; flame licked the edges and rose in a neat, angry column. John's chair tipped back with comic violence; he went sprawling, swore, scraped his knuckles on the floor, and then hissed as his head cracked into the floor. "The fook!" John spat his toothpick out. "Warn a man, Red!"

Arthur skidded across the floor and flung a bucket of water over the smoldering heap before any more embers could catch.

"FUCK ME!" John shouted, spluttering water from his mouth as he whipped it away with the back of his hand. "Watch it, Arthur!"

"Oh!" Arthur blinked. "Sorry, John-boy. Whatcha doin' on the floor for?"

"I am going home!" John got up off the ground grumbling. "Knew I should have just stayed in bed naked with Esme. Fuck this shite. Bloody witches with anger issues worse than a hornet in a soda can."

He stormed away from them, slamming the door to the shop closed behind him. Arthur grunted. "Such a pansy, our John-boy."

Harri didn't look at John. She was watching the print curl and disappear like a bad memory. The smell of burnt pulp and ink twisted in the air; despite herself, something like satisfaction eased through her. The headlines had been savaging her sisters, her children's faces, every private moment they thought safe. It felt personal. It was personal.

Tommy's hand closed on her shoulder like a vice and then softened. He turned her, pressed a kiss to her forehead that was not showy but absolute. The kiss made the anger leak out of her in a way she couldn't have forced. At least it stopped her from going further with the idea of burning down Witch Weekly's printing shop.

She folded into him for a heartbeat, then slid back, chin high.

"Harri, don't read the rags," he said, voice even, all business under the domestic warmth. "They're just words. Just words."

"Words," she echoed, and hot air left her in a laugh that sounded too rough to her own ears.  "They took a picture of me with Teddy buying vegetables at the market, Tommy. Of me Hermione and visiting Ada and Freddie in London. They got a fucking photo of our son with Karl! They are putting targets on your sister and Freddie's back! They are muggles!"

Tommy thumbed her jaw like it was something he wanted to remember. She took a deep breath and glared at the wall. He kissed her temple again. "We'll hire a solicitor," he said. Practical. Always practical, the way he counted things — numbers, risks, allies.

Harri's eyes lit up. She couldn't believe she had forgotten about that. Then again it wasn't so hard to forget about. Nobody had ever hired a solicitor for her when the Minsitry put a smear campaign on her name when they refused to believe her about no-nose being back.

Tommy hummed, an amused, fond sound. "I'll get you one." He gave her the smallest of smiles. "I'll get you a solicitor. I'm afraid, I won't be much help, Darling, but I can get you and the girls some Blinders for protection at least."

"They're Wixen, Tommy," Harri snapped. "They have magic."

"And we have guns." He tapped her chin with a finger the way a man teases a stubborn kitten.

"Guns versus wands?" she said, and there was a grin at the edge of her voice. "It's a modern debate."

"You win by making sure the other man knows he'll lose everything if he touches you," Tommy said.

Harri stepped closer, leaned into him, and let the domestic corner of Small Heath fall away for a breath. "Are you gonna blind someone in my honor, Honey?"

"Perhaps," He gave her a small smile. "Let's go get lunch and kiss a bit, eh?"

Harri jabbed him, a soft poke. "If you put your hand up my dress again—"

"I'll behave," he shot back, mischief settling around his smile.

She lifted a brow. "And if you don't, I'll tell Polly."

Tommy's grin turned dangerous. "Try that and you'll see a different kind of trouble."

She considered for a heartbeat. "Fine," she said, lips curling. "I won't tell."

"Good girl," he said. "Come on. We'll sort the solicitor. We'll talk to the Blinders. Hermione can deal with Janet Skeeter's bleeding tongue."

They had been living with a press storm that would have terrified other women into hiding. Harri had invited it like a fist in the face. That was the point: the more fury they tried to hurl at her, the more visible she remained — to friends, to enemies, to the people who mattered. She would not be erased by smear and scrawl.

A memory flared: Ian Clearwater's flash catching her as she'd walked through the market, the whip of silver light and the obvious, intrusive click. She'd had a mind to let him keep his teeth. Instead, she'd stepped forward, fingers working in the air like she was knitting fate instead of fabric, and his camera had turned to ash mid-snap. He'd dropped it, swearing, eyes wide with the sudden realization that one witch without a wand wasn't supposed to be able to scorch a Daily Prophet camera. For what it was worth, the man had later claimed there had been a fault with development. He'd kept his mouth shut. For some men, fear kept the paper thin; for others, the paper made the fear.

Ginny and Hermione were trouble, both of them — different shapes of trouble. Hermione carried herself like someone who'd written the lawbooks and could recite the footnotes by heart. Ginny's was a combustible laugh and a religion of mischief that leaned heavily towards violence.

A scrap of commotion blew in an hour later: Janet Skeeter of Witch Chat had caught sight of the sisters outside a café and had shoved a microphone toward Hermione's face, all peacock flourish and laddered charm. Ginny, who'd always been a spark ready to become a bonfire, didn't so much as think before she shoved the journalist back.

Skeeter hadn't expected the shove. She'd expected the usual politeness — a tart retort, a perfunctory denial — not Ginny, a woman who could wrestle a quote into the ground. Before anyone quite understood what had happened, Ginny's hand had closed on Skeeter's sleeve and the reporter had felt the itchy insistence of a wand at the back of her neck. The reporter squealed; Hermione shot her a look that put the poor woman in the mind of apologizing for her existence.

There was another instance where Luna, who had been leaving her tea shop had a cameraman named Louis Vaughn itching to catch one of them in an unguarded moment, Luna decided that Louis needed a lesson in humility. She sent Arthur after him. Well, she didn't stop Arthur from going after him. Louis ran, tripped over the market stand, and landed in a puddle with the dignity of a drowned rat.

By the time the sisters returned to the bookshop, triumphant and flushed, the headlines had already added two new spins: "Peverell Sisters in Scuffle with Gossip-Monger" and "Lady Peverell Spotted with Disinherited Phineas Black — Could it be Love?" The latter had enough inked scandal for a week.

"Nigel?" Harri snorted.

"No pureblood thoughts, Harri" Ginny shouted while laughing.

Phineas Black II had been disowned for principles his family could not stomach: he'd spoken in favour of Muggle rights once, and for that he'd been knocked sideways in the family line. He had a charm that reminded her of Sirius. He was also, somehow, the sort of man who did not look at her and decide he owned anything she had.

"He's a walking supposition," Hermione said dryly, tying back a loose strand of her hair. "But he has manners, and he does not believe gossip. I didn't know you met up with him since the Wizengamot meeting?"

Harri shrugged. "I didn't. We bumped into each other when I was visiting Gringotts. We just got tea while he waited on Charlus and Hugo McKenzie. They were going three ways on some project that I honestly forgot what about."

Ginny, flushed and still bristling from whatever row she'd just had with Kreacher, stomped into the shop and plonked herself down on a stack of unsold almanacs. Without preamble, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a revolver that most definitely hadn't been there when they left.

The shop went dead silent.

"Ginny!" Harri half-snarled, half-laughed. "What the hell is that?"

"Someone offered it to me for protection," Ginny said, far too casually, waving the gun like it was a trinket from the market. "Said it'd make me feel safer."

Luna appeared in the doorway, hair wild as moonlight, eyes twinkling with impish delight. "John Shelby has excellent taste," she said serenely.

The silence that followed was almost physical.

"John?" Hermione asked, voice an octave too high. "John Shelby gave you that?"

Ginny's flush went scarlet. "Not—not exactly," she stammered, looking anywhere but at them.

Harri raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin tugging at her mouth. "Oh, Merlin's knickers. Please tell me you didn't—"

"I didn't!" Ginny snapped, then deflated. "Well. Not with him anyway."

Luna hummed, tilting her head. "But with his wife," she supplied dreamily, as if she were commenting on the weather.

Hermione made a strangled sound that might have been her soul leaving her body. "You—Esme? Ginny! She's married!"

"Oh, don't start!" Ginny wailed, throwing a hand up. "I didn't mean for it to happen! It was just one of those things—one drink turned into three and she's got these hands, and then—ugh, I don't know, Hermione!"

Harri snorted, biting her knuckle to keep from laughing outright.

"And what about Isaiah?" Hermione demanded, voice climbing again. "You're—what, courting him too?"

Ginny groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know! There are so many bloody options! Isaiah's sweet, John's a bastard but he's fit, and Esme's—"

"—flexible?" Luna offered.

"—married!" Hermione shrieked.

Harri couldn't help herself then—she laughed, full and bright and delighted at the chaos that was her family. "Oh, Ginny, you're going to give poor Molly an aneurysm if she ever knew any of this."

Ginny threw her arms wide. "What can I say? I'm living dangerously!"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're living stupidly."

Luna smiled faintly. "Sometimes those are the same thing."

Harri's laughter softened, eyes fond despite it all. "Only you, Ginevra Weasley, could move to Birmingham and manage to tangle yourself up with a gangster, his wife, and his friends' kid all at once."

Ginny groaned into her hands. "Please tell me there's firewhisky."

"There was," Harri said dryly. "Kreacher just dumped it out because you called him a 'feral sock goblin.'"

Ginny muttered something very rude about house-elves under her breath.

Harri sighed. "You're lucky I love you, Gin."

"Yeah," Ginny grumbled, still brandishing the revolver around— "I'm starting to think that's the only thing keeping me alive."

BANG!

The shot cracked like thunder.

The smell of gunpowder filled the shop, thick and sharp, and a puff of plaster dust floated down from the new, gaping hole in the wall.

For one frozen heartbeat, no one moved. Then everyone started screaming.

Harri's ears rang as she ducked behind the sofa with Luna and Hermione. Teddy began crying from his bassinet in the other room, Tom joined in right after, and somewhere in the back, a kettle shrieked like it had been personally offended.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Harri hissed, popping up again. "Ginny—what in the name of Morgana did you do that for?!"

Ginny stared at the revolver in her hands, face white. "I—I didn't mean—! It just—my finger slipped—"

"Your finger slipped?!" Hermione shrieked, scrambling up to snatch the revolver away from her. "You could have killed someone!"

Luna, serenely brushing plaster dust off her shoulder, mused, "At least she didn't shoot Kreacher. He'd haunt us all for eternity."

As if summoned by her words, Kreacher appeared in a crack of displaced air — eyes bulging, ears trembling, clutching a dented tea tray like a shield.

"WHAT—WHAT—WHAT IN MERLIN'S CURSED—FILTHY—MUDBLOOD-SMELLING NAME—IS THAT THING?!"

The house-elf pointed at the revolver like it were the devil incarnate. His long nose quivered with outrage.

"It's a gun, Kreacher—" Harri began.

"A MUGGLE WEAPON!" Kreacher howled, his voice hitting an impressive pitch. "IN THE HOUSE OF MY MISTRESS! DEFILING THE WALLS WITH DIRTY, STINKING, IRON-FORGED ABOMINATIONS! OH, SHAME! SHAME ON THE BLOOD TRAITOR WITCH!"

Ginny's eyes went wide. "Excuse me?!"

But Kreacher was past reason now. He began stomping around in circles, muttering vile hexes under his breath, yanking at his ears. "Master Regulus is turning in his grave—oh yes, he is—seeing filthy red-haired she-devil waving Muggle filth about like a—like a—"

"Kreacher!" Harri snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don't finish that sentence."

He ignored her entirely, now clutching his tea tray dramatically to his chest. "Kreacher must cleanse the stain! Kreacher must wash the floor with his tongue, yes, yes, and slam his fingers in the oven for failing his Mistress! For allowing such unholy—"

"Kreacher, you are not slamming anything in any oven again! We talked about this!" Harri barked, voice sharp enough to crack through his hysteria.

He froze mid-rant, blinking at her. His lower lip quivered, but the fury still simmered in his eyes. "But the Muggle taint, Mistress—"

"I'll handle the wall," Harri said firmly, rubbing her temples. "You will not punish yourself for Ginny's mistake. Go check on the boys, and for Merlin's sake, don't frighten them further."

Kreacher gave a jerky bow, still muttering darkly. "Filthy Muggle bangsticks... disrespectful young witches... Death's mistress consorting with fools..." He shuffled away, grumbling all the while.

When he vanished into the back, Harri looked up to find Luna smirking faintly. "He really does care for you, you know. It's very sweet, in a horrifying way."

Ginny sagged onto the counter, hands shaking. "I think I need a drink."

Hermione threw her hands up. "You need supervision that's what you need!"

Harri just laughed, long and low, shoulders trembling with it. "If I live long enough to see another day without Kreacher threatening ritual self-mutilation or one of you lot firing off Muggle weapons indoors, I'll call it a bloody miracle."

There was another crash in the back room, followed by Kreacher's distant, triumphant yell:

"THE TEAPOT HAS BEEN PURIFIED, MISTRESS!"

Harri groaned. "Oh, for Death's sake."

Chapter Text

"There are three ways of doing things: the right or wrong way and how I do it."

- Robert De Niro

⚡⚡⚡

The tent was too quiet. It had been that way since Ron left with his anger sharp enough to tear through wards and warmth alike, his footsteps crunching away into the dark. His rage had torn through what little stability they'd managed to build. In the days that followed, silence filled the space he vacated, thick and watchful, like the pause between spells in a duel. It pressed against the canvas walls, curled into every corner, and settled into their bones.

It had been days... They had learned the sounds of it intimately... the faint crackle of the protective enchantments they put up, the whisper of wind through bare branches, the soft clink of the kettle cooling on the stove.

Christmas had passed without ceremony.

Now New Year's Eve arrived the same way: unannounced, uncelebrated. No bells. No laughter. No shouting crowds counting down the seconds. Only the small, stubborn fire and the slow ticking of Hermione's watch... and the whisper of winter outside.

And the ache in their chests that refused to dull no matter how busy they kept their hands.

Outside, the forest groaned under frost and wind. Inside, the wards hummed low and constant, a reminder that nothing, not even sleep was safe.

Hermione sat hunched near the small radio, her hands curled around a chipped mug gone cold. The Potterwatch broadcast had ended minutes ago, but the names still echoed in her head.

Missing.

Confirmed dead.

Last seen near the border.

Family requests information.

She hadn't looked at Harri while they listened. She hadn't dared.

Undesirable Number One.

The words had been said so casually, so cruelly, as though Harri were a storm to be tracked instead of a girl being hunted.

She had to do something so Hermione was now mending a tear in Harri's jumper when the singing began.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?..."

Hermione's needle paused mid-stitch.

The voice was soft, almost hesitant at first, as though Harri wasn't entirely certain she was allowed to sing at all. Hermione looked up.

Harri sat near the fire, knees drawn to her chest, her red hair loose around her shoulders with her wand resting idle beside her. The flames kissed her hair, turning it to living copper, bright and dangerous and unbearably beautiful. Shadows moved across her face as she sang, but her expression was distant... elsewhere... eyes unfocused, staring not at the canvas walls of the tent but at something far from their reach and far sadder... And far beyond the war itself.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot
In the days of auld lang syne?"

Hermione's breath caught. The song cut differently now after the broadcast, after the names, after hearing people they knew spoken of in the past tense.

She sang on,

"For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
We'll drink a cup of kindness yet
For the sake of auld lang syne

And surely, you will buy your cup
And surely, I'll buy mine!
We'll take a cup of kindness yet
For the sake of auld lang syne..."

She had known Harri had a beautiful voice; it wasn't trained, nor showy, but honest to Merlin, soft and lovely. She remembered Christmases at Hogwarts, half-joking choruses, Harri laughing through carols— but this was different. This was reverent. Wounded. Each note carried something fragile and raw. Hermione had the strangest, aching thought that if Harri had been loved properly as a child, she might have sung all the time.

The forest outside seemed to be still. Even the wind softened, as if listening.

Harri's voice grew steadier as the song went on, richer, fuller, threaded with grief.

"For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
We'll drink a cup of kindness yet
For the sake of auld lang syne..."

By the final note, Hermione realized her cheeks were wet.

Harri fell silent. The fire popped softly, as if unsure whether it was allowed to intrude again.

Hermione swallowed. "I would sing that with mum and dad," She spoke. "We'd sit on the sofa, watching the telly even though we never paid attention to it."

"I imagine," Harri smiled softly though it looked pained, "that normal families do sing it. That maybe—" Her voice faltered. She shook her head. "Never mind."

Hermione set her sewing aside and crossed the tent. She sat beside Harri, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Harri tensed for a heartbeat, then relaxed, leaning into the contact. Touch without pain was a language she was still learning.

"You're allowed to imagine," Hermione said. "You're allowed to mourn what you never got."

Harri huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. "Feels ridiculous sometimes. Missing people I don't remember. Missing a life that was stolen before I could want it."

"That's not ridiculous at all," Hermione said fiercely.

Harri's eyes burned, but she didn't let the tears fall.

"You don't have to be brave all the time," Hermione said, her voice trembling despite herself. "You know that, don't you?"

Harri let out a small, humorless laugh. "Funny. Everyone seems to forget."

Hermione reached for her hand. Harri's fingers were cold.

"I keep thinking about Ron," Harri admitted. "I'm angry. And I miss him. And I hate that both things can exist at once."

"They usually are," Hermione said. "Especially when you love someone. Harri... That doesn't make you weak."

Harri's throat bobbed. She nodded once.

Outside, the wind shifted. Somewhere far off, a branch cracked beneath the weight of frost. Midnight passed unnoticed with no bells and no countdown... just two girls sitting in a battered tent at the edge of the world, holding on to what little warmth they had left.

After a long moment, Hermione squeezed Harri's hand. "Sing it again next year."

Harri glanced at her, surprised.

Hermione smiled through tears. "We'll make it to next year. And when we do... We'll sing it properly. With everyone."

Harri looked at her then, really looked and something fragile and hopeful flickered across her face.

"For the sake of auld lang syne," Harri whispered.

⚡️

Harri woke with a sharp gasp, magic flaring hot and wild beneath her skin, heart hammering like she was still running... still hiding... still listening to names read out over the radio like death warrants. Her lungs burned. The smell of smoke clung to her, phantom and choking, and for one terrifying second she expected canvas walls, wards humming, the cold bite of winter pressing in—

Instead, there was warmth.

A low, steady presence beside her shifted. The mattress dipped. Strong hands, real and solid, cupped her face.

"Easy," a voice murmured, rough with sleep and smoke. "Easy now."

Tommy Shelby sat up beside her, his hair mussed, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes already sharp despite the hour. He brushed his thumb beneath her eye, catching the tear before it could fall. "Stop cryin', luv," he said quietly. "It's only a dream."

Harri's breath shuddered. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like she might drown if she let go.

"A memory," she corrected hoarsely.

Tommy didn't argue. His jaw tightened just enough for her to see it. He knew that look. The way the past could drag itself into the present, muddy boots and all, demanding to be lived through again. France had done that to him. The tunnels. The shells. The boys who never came back.

A soldier knew another soldier's nightmares.

He drew her in, one arm firm around her shoulders, the other cradling the back of her head, pressing her face into the solid line of his chest. His heart beat slow and steady beneath her ear... proof of now, not then.

"I know," he said softly. "I know."

Harri trembled once, hard, then stilled as he held her. His hand moved through her hair in slow, grounding strokes, anchoring her to the moment.

"They were huntin' you," Tommy said, not asking. "Still are, in your head."

She nodded against him. "Everyone was dying around me," she whispered. "I couldn't stop it."

Tommy's grip tightened though it was not painful, but unyielding.

"But you survived," he said. "That's what matters. You're here. You're home."

She tilted her head back, eyes red, searching his face. "I was a weapon. A symbol. A target."

"So was I," Tommy replied simply. "War doesn't care what you call yourself. It takes what it can."

He leaned his forehead against hers, breath warm, and gentle. "I'll keep you safe, Harriett," he promised.

Harri exhaled shakily, the last of the nightmare loosening its grip as she let herself believe him. She tucked herself back against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart. Her breathing evened out slowly, but sleep didn't come back the way it should have. It hovered just out of reach, fragile as glass. Tommy felt it in the way her fingers still curled into his shirt, the way her shoulders stayed tense, like she was braced for the ground to give way again.

Then she began to sing.

So softly at first he thought he was imagining it.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind..."

Her voice was quieter than it had been in the dream, stripped bare of fire and fury. This was what was left when the war was done tearing at her for the night. Something raw. Something holy.

Tommy didn't move. He held her like a man afraid the slightest shift might break the spell. His thumb brushed slow, reverent circles at her temple, feeling the warmth of her skin, the proof that she was real and here and breathing.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot
In the days of auld lang syne?"

The words landed differently now. Not as mourning. As remembrance.

Tommy stared into the dark, throat tight. He'd prayed once. Though it was not often. Not even properly. But in the mud, with shells screaming overhead and men crying for their mothers, he'd begged for something— anything —to come out of the dark and pull him back from it.

An angel, maybe.Not the soft kind. The kind that survived hell and kept going.

That was before he lost his faith.

Then he met Grace... And he had a thought but no, not Grace.

Never Grace.

Harri.

"For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne..."

Her voice trembled on my dear, and Tommy's arm tightened around her, instinctive, possessive, and protective. Like if he held her hard enough, the past wouldn't dare touch her again.

"We'll drink a cup of kindness yet
For the sake of auld lang syne..."

The song faded into silence, the last note dissolving into the quiet of the room. Harri stayed still for a moment, cheek pressed to his chest.

Tommy swallowed.

"I love you," he said.

The words came out rough, but it was the heavy and unmovable truth. He loved her.

Harri lifted her head then. She looked up at him through thick coal lashes, eyes still glassy with sleep and haunted, but it was steady. Certain. Like someone who had faced death too many times to lie about this.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby," she said softly. "Always."

He pressed his forehead to hers, breath mingling, and for the first time in years, the war went quiet inside his head.

And he slept.

And she slept... Perhaps the best sleep she had ever had.

⚡️

Hermione snarled under her breath as she moved through London. The invisibility cloak had been Harri's small mercy and it happened to be the only thing between her and a dozen flashing shutters and a hundred eager mouths. She folded it into her beaded bag with a quick and experienced motion. She'd used such tricks before in their darker days. Hermione began murmuring under her breath about all the hassle. Sure, the Triwizard mess had taught her that cameras loved spectacle. Not to mention the nasty articles when Voldemort's forces had full reign of the Daily Prophet but nowhere near this degree. How did Harriett put up with it? It was maddening! She could hardly go to the bloody market without some dingus popping up with a camera and flashing it in her face. These press vultures were circling her family, trying to sniff out a scandal and feed on it.

Peverell... All the damn Potter luck in the world... Of course, something like this would happen. She was terrified.

Grindelwald was sure to come for them. She just knew it!

The scarred word Mudblood burned lightly on her arm.

She had to protect them all. Harri deserved a peaceful life. Hermione was determined to see that she got it. They were just settling into Small Heath. Luna had a kind and adorable friendship with Arthur, Ginny was in some strange square of an issue with Isiah, John, and Esme, and Harri with Thomas. He was taking good care of her best friend and little Tom and Teddy. And well... Hermione may be a bit lonely but she was okay with it because her family was happy.

She kept her head down, shoulders wrapped against the damp. None of them should have had to take this. The thought of Grindelwald, of the way power in the wrong hands turned people into projectiles, was a small hot coal she kept pressing into her palm until it stung. Hermione Jean Granger was not a violent woman but she was starting to see the appeal in why Ginerva swings first and hexes last. It felt good to punch the man harassing them. It helped with the anger even if the four of them had taken to dueling each other out in the countryside late at night to prepare for the trouble that was sure to come.

She rounded a corner and there, as if conjured by relief itself, Ollie stepped into view. He was all neat waistcoat and a soft, easy grin. Hermione ducked out of sight for a heartbeat, smoothing her skirts and calming her face. It was ridiculous how quickly the small rituals of one's appearance could steady one's nerves. She let the cloak go into the bag, fixed a stray curl behind her ear, and moved toward him like she had not just been keeping her family safe from a press storm.

"Hello, Miss Granger," Ollie smiled politely at her when she came up.

"Hello, Mr. Abade."

"How many times must I insist you call me Ollie, please?"

"And how many times have I insisted on, Hermione," she said.

"I shall endeavor to remember then."

"I hope you do."

"You look... settled," he said, eyes crinkling the way a brother might.

They'd been building toward something like kinship for weeks: the easy jibes, the small confidences, the bread-run errands that had become excuses to walk beside one another. There was something in his steadiness she'd come to rely on.

When Ollie mentioned Alfie had made a loaf for her, she blushed like some schoolgirl at a prank.

"No, truly," Ollie snickered. "It's in his office along with some tea and fresh butter and lunch meats."

"Lovely," Hermione murmured. The embarrassment was still strong.

Merlin's Beard, Tommy...

Ollie led her through the factory with the practised pride of a man who loved the machines that let the world go round. The smell of flour and yeast wrapped around her like a domestic spell; for a moment it made something soft in her chest loosen. They checked shipments and inventory, moved from ledger to ledger with quiet competence. They were competent together — two people who could take a problem apart and put it back together better than before. Hermione liked that about him. She liked the way his mind made neat, useful patterns.

An hour later, Hermione found herself being led through the maze of ovens and toward Alfie's office with the casual confidence of someone escorting family.

The air in Alfie's domain was warmer, thicker with spices, and thankfully no smoke since Alfie was against smoking, and when the door creaked open Hermione felt it like a different country. There was a sound — the tap of a cane on floorboards — and then he was there, a shadow with a hat, stepping forward with the kind of presence that filled a room the way a brass band fills a square.

Alfie removed his hat with a flourish that might have been exaggerated on purpose. "Ah," he said, half amusement, half appraisal. "The beautiful Hermione is in my office."

Hermione felt absurdly flustered and crossed her legs like someone trying to keep a stray thought from escaping.

The man was a study in contradictions: rough hands, a cultivated manner, the kind of mouth that had probably been used to both blessing and bargaining. His voice was cracked with smoke but practiced in charm.

"So? On a scale of one to ten, how's business?" he asked, settling like an old lion into his chair.

"A firm ten," she said automatically, the woman of facts answering before the woman of romance caught up with her pulse. She told herself to stop that very impolite flutter between her legs.

She was sensible damn it! She had led duels and debates, given lessons in rhetoric, and turned the Ministry's harshness into footnotes. She would not be undone by a man with a cane.

"Excellent," he hummed. "Did you see the bread I had made for you?"

She went red again. Ollie's grin was smug from the doorway, and Alfie crowed like a man who'd won a wager. He pushed a plate toward her with a manner that suggested ritual rather than generosity: crust thick and, butter waiting like a small sun, the scent of baking that made her think, absurdly, of home.

He'd thought of her.

She was going to kill Tommy.

Alfie watched her with that rough tenderness only men hardened by life give, those who have seen too much and so shelter what pleases them. "You get this crinkle on your nose when you're embarrassed," he observed. "It's fucking adorable, luv."

It was the kind of line that could have been a barb and instead landed like a caress. She wanted to swat him. To properly admonish herself for letting her chest betray her by answering with a slow smile.

Oh, she was definitely killing Tommy for putting her in this position.

Hermione sat straighter in the chair, forcing herself to smooth out her skirts like she was some high-society lady instead of a witch trying to keep gangsters from shooting each other in the head over rum shipments. Alfie, however, seemed completely oblivious to her battle for composure. He was already fiddling with his papers, muttering something about flour prices and lazy dockworkers, before he finally looked up again with that infuriating grin.

Alfie leaned on his cane, eyeing her like he could see straight through to the nerves prickling under her skin. "You come in here, all proper with your lists and your neat little handwriting—" he waved vaguely at the parchment she'd annotated in her careful script, "—but you get flustered over a bloody loaf of bread. I don't know whether to laugh at you or write you a sonnet."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but her cheeks betrayed her, heating as red as the brick walls outside. "Mr. Solomons, I am here to work, not to entertain your jokes."

"Alfie," he corrected smoothly, lowering himself into his chair with a grunt. He placed both hands on his cane and tilted his head. "And I ain't joking. Bread's serious business, innit? Especially when I have it baked special for a lady who keeps my numbers straight and doesn't let Shelby fuck me over on shipping costs."

Hermione pressed her lips together. It was absurd. She could duel dark wizards, stand up to Skeeter's poisonous pen, manage magical logistics while raising protective wards around Small Heath— but here she was, going pink because Alfie Solomons of all people noticed the way her nose crinkled.

She had the quick thought of hiking her skirt up and shoving everything off his desk and telling him to use his beautiful mouth...

"Would you like to go over the figures?" she said briskly, desperate to redirect.

Alfie leaned back, dark eyes glinting like he'd already won some private game. "Figures, right. Go on then, love. But you're eating the bread. I didn't have my boys up at four a.m. proofing dough just for you to sit there and act like it's been poisoned."

Hermione exhaled through her nose, picked up a slice of the bread.. still warm, damn him— and spread the butter he'd left waiting. She took a bite, trying to ignore the way Alfie watched her chew the crust with an almost scholarly interest. Like her mouth was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Well?" he asked after a long silence.

Hermione swallowed and raised her brows, deliberately unimpressed. "It's bread, Alfie."

"It's the best bread in bloody Camden, that's what it is." He smirked. "Don't lie to me, love. I can see it in your face—you like it."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward despite herself. "You're impossible."

"Mm. And yet, here you still are."

She gave him a sharp look, but it only made Alfie chuckle, low and rough. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and said in a voice quieter than usual, "You know, Hermione Granger... I don't let just anyone sit in that chair."

The weight of his gaze made her stomach flip, though she quickly buried it under a cool reply. "I'm sure that's meant to sound flattering, Mr. Solomons, but given the state of this office, I'm not entirely convinced."

Alfie barked a laugh, the kind that rattled in his chest. "Sharp tongue. I like that."

Hermione turned back to her notes before she did something stupid, like tell him to rip off her clothes and devour her.

She would kill Tommy later, she promised herself. Slowly.

Then perhaps maybe not... Harri would be rather miffed with her if she did.

Alfie asked questions about the factory, about routes, about the day's business as if the bread were a reason to talk rather than the main event. It was a clever sort of courting: men who had survived the streets understood that practicality was a gentler way into someone's life.

She told him, guarded but honest, about the shipments, where to make small cuts, and how to finesse claims. He listened like a man who learned by taste as well as by ear. In the pauses, his eyes would travel to her hands, to the line of her jaw, as if pulling thoughts together with those small, private looks. She found herself wanting to answer everything and nothing at all, to show the mind she was proud of, and to hide the small, soft parts behind it.

The conversation shifted, not by any grand motion, but with the small gradations of two people feeling each other out. He spoke of London's hidden markets, of deals gone sideways, of a rival who'd tried to move in on his trade and had come away with bleeding pockets rather than goods. His stories were edged with danger but softened by a sort of weary amusement. When he laughed, his face crinkled, and Hermione found that sound settling something in her chest.

When Alfie paused, watching her reaction like a man who liked to see what a woman would do with choice, she found her cheeks warm again.

The world had pulled its tarp off, and under the tarp, this felt like a place she might want to build out of bruised things and well... fresh bread.

He shifted forward, something like courage flickering behind his eyes. "You should stay for dinner," he said, as casually as if mentioning the weather. "There's a new stew I've been working on. It needs a proper critic."

Hermione almost declined but Alfie's look made the protest die at her lips. There was an invitation there that did not demand she bear herself; it merely asked if she would allow him in.

It was not marriage on a platter, nor romance in an instant.

"Why not," Hermione grinned.

And if I accidentally trip into his big muscular arms... Who has to know?

⚡️

The train clattered into London with its usual dirty grace of soot and steam spilling through the air. Arthur Shelby was already restless, pacing the platform before they'd even cleared the carriage. He lit one cigarette, then another, then cursed when he realized he'd dropped his lighter somewhere in the seats.

Behind him, Ginny Weasley descended the steps with her coat collar turned up and her face pinched in irritation. She tugged her hat lower, not to hide from the London crowd, but because she didn't want Arthur Shelby reading the look in her eyes.

She was furious with Tommy.

"Fucking babysitter," she muttered under her breath.

Arthur turned, grinning as though he'd heard. "Aye, little Gin-Gin, ready to see how the big city shines?"

"Don't call me little Gin-Gin, you drunkard," she snapped, striding past him toward the cab Tommy had arranged. "And I'm not here for the sights. I'm here to keep you from turning the place into ashes!"

Arthur barked out a laugh, his wild energy vibrating under his skin. "That's what Tommy said? 'Keep Arthur out o' trouble, Ginny. Mind him like a nursemaid.'" He imitated Tommy's flat voice, and his grin widened sourly. "Well, I'll tell you now — nursemaids don't last long with me."

Ginny shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "That is so gross! You try to play me, Arthur Shelby, and I'll put you on your arse quicker than your whiskey bottle can."

Arthur's grin faltered, just slightly. Then he chuckled again, shaking his head. "You sound more like Polly every day."

"Why couldn't Luna watch you... Fucking Tommy," Ginny swore to herself she was not pouting.

They arrived at the club Sabini had once lorded over. It still smelled of stale champagne and cheap perfume, the mirrors cracked, velvet couches slashed. Arthur looked at it like a hunting dog spotting a fresh kill.

Ginny, meanwhile, rolled up her sleeves. "Right. First things first — we sort out staff, the books, and security."

Arthur blinked at her. "The books?"

"Yes, Arthur, the books," she said, exasperated. "Tommy doesn't want a bloodbath; he wants profit. This place will bleed coin if someone doesn't keep track of it. Gods, man... keep up!"

Arthur scratched at his beard, already drifting toward the bar. "Right, right. Books. Profits. Staff." He plucked a dusty bottle off the shelf and grinned. "An' drinks."

Ginny marched up, snatched the bottle from his hands, and slammed it back down. "No drinks! Not while we're working. Tommy sent me to mind you, and by Merlin I'll do it."

Arthur stared at her, jaw working. Then, with a slow grin, he leaned in close. "Y'know, Ginny-girl, you've got bigger balls than half the lads I've fought with."

"Try me," she shot back, shoving past him to the back office.

⚡️

As the day wore on, Ginny wrangled the chaos of Sabini's club into something that almost resembled order. She bullied the suppliers into fairer prices, hired two sharp-eyed girls to keep the bar, and had the cleaning crew working like their lives depended on it.

Arthur, of course, slipped a few times — drinking with the lads, nearly starting a fight with a lingering Sabini loyalist — but Ginny was always there, fierce as a lioness, dragging him back by the collar if she had to.

By the time the lights were ready to go up and the first paying crowd to spill in, Arthur slumped in a chair, half-proud, half-baffled. "Bloody hell, Gin. Place looks great!"

Ginny really did do a perfect imitation of her mother Molly Weasley when she said, "You're welcome."

Arthur smirked, leaning back with his cigarette. "Still say I didn't need you here to babysit."

She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "And I still say you'd be dead in a gutter if I weren't."

Arthur laughed, and for once Ginny didn't hate the sound. Well, she still had half the mind to slam his face on the board and break his nose.