"Well, It's definitely..."
For once in her relatively short life, Harriet was at a loss for words. She and Merope had just gone through a very testing train ride, six hours long, having broken down over in Evesham at one point, having not thought to bring food or water and Merope having a total lack of communication skills had made the whole ordeal a lot harder than Harry had expected it to be.
Of course, she didn't expect to travel back in time all this way, find Merope and the two to hit it right off the bat, skipping off into the horizon with clasped hands and a jaunty tune but by Merlin, Harry was lucky if she got a full sentence out of the severe looking woman. She knew it wasn't Merope's fault, far from it, her family and circumstances had pushed her so far down into the mud she knew no other way to be, but that didn't make this task of getting her out of her shell and living a happy life any easier.
Harry should have known luck wouldn't be on her side, it never was, she was more than likely to trip over luck and crash into tragedy, but just one full conversation would have been pleasant. Harry wasn't the best at social interaction as it was and being the leading party that was meant to make that bloom in someone else, well, it felt a lot heavier than she expected it to. At one point, she had even resorted to the dreaded question of asking what Merope's favourite colour was. How disheartening.
When the train had docked into the station, Harry had been excited, practically bouncing in her seat even. She hadn't ventured much around England, having been locked up in her Aunt and Uncles cupboard, then Hogwarts in summer, the only real exploring she had done of the country she had lived in was being on the run with Hermione and Ron, and obviously that wasn't the best of circumstances to look around in wonder and say 'oh, what a lovely place.'. So, when she had heard of this Small Heath, Birmingham, she hadn't really known what she had signed up for but thought it couldn't possibly be that bad. Surely it was a lovely place, a place she could get Merope to open up in, a place where peace and greenery could help Merope heal from years of familial abuse, a thriving, friendly place of rolling green and honeysuckle hills where Merope could become comfortable and happy, a place so different to anything Merope had known before that it would open her eyes to new things, new possibilities...
She had been so very wrong.
Her first step out of the station, pushing through a thick body of rampaging people, hand tightly clasped around Merope's so they didn't loose each other in the mad rush, she had stepped into an ankle deep muddy puddle. When the passer's by cleared and she could see fully, Harry would admit she winced and she winced hard at what greeted her. Then the smog had hit her squarely in the lungs like a Thestral had just back kicked her ribs and she had nearly coughed up half a lung.
The roads, if they could be called that, were just trodden grooves of mud between narrow and imposing bricked buildings, housing it looked like. People milled around, carts with horses and sacks of food drove passed, the riders spitting on the floor as they whipped the reigns, the sky was a thick grey, from the fog, smog or just plain old English weather, Harry didn't know, but it felt heavy and oppressive. Women and men hung out of their windows, yelling and hollering down to the people that walked passed, one woman even tipping a bucket of dubious looking water right out of one cracked window, contents landing on the people bellow her. All of a sudden, Harry was transported back to Snape's old home in Spinners end, Cokesworth, it only made her grimace harder. So, you would forgive her for her loss of words upon the scenery that greeted her to what she had expected to see. After all, Small Heath sounded so pleasant and quaint...
"Beautiful. Absolutely Beautiful Harry."
Harry's head snapped around to face Merope so fast she was sure she gave it a crack. It was the longest Merope had spoken in a whole five hours and above all else, she hadn't once stuttered or floundered in her speech. Harry had figured out Merope's problem as soon as she had left the station with her in tow. The woman, who was painfully dissociated from the world around her, suffered from a total and utter lack of confidence. In everything from herself to the people around her. She was like a wounded animal, expecting that finishing blow any second, a trapped bunny who had given up a long, long time ago. It made sense, too much for Harry to feel comfortable that Merope thought she would have to lower herself to using Amortentia to get love. That's the only way she believed anyone would love her. The only way Merope could see she would get the happily ever after she so wanted.
Harry was here to dash that, to build her confidence, to give her hope without the lies attached to it. For Harry knew Merope could be happy, she could settle down and have everything she ever wanted but unfortunately for them all, herself included, Happily ever afters didn't exist. Hardships would come, testing times would crash over them, sadness would prevail, that was life. So, while Harry was here to show her the wonders of life, to not give up on herself or the world around her, to keep trying, she had to show Merope reality too, to show her that life came with thorns and that was okay. To have the good, you had to accept the bad too.
Still, at Merope's wide-eyed gander around her, her flushed cheeks, the first colouring she had seen on the woman and her slacked jaw, Harry couldn't help but squeeze her hand harder, assuringly, almost proud of herself despite this all being a happy mistake. Who was Harry to question what Merope found beautiful? Maybe a bit of luck was indeed on her side this day.
"Beautiful it is then. Right, we have four hours before nightfall and we need to find a place to sleep and some food because I don't know about you, but I am famished."
Knowing that the clock was ticking unless they should end up sleeping in a pile of hay, neither woman moved, still looking around themselves, soaking in the busy life that played before them. The idea hit Harry suddenly as she watched a trader, just outside of the station, peddling salted nuts. To gain confidence, you had to accomplish something. You had to try to win. Merope, bless her soul, hadn't been given any chance to try for something that would make her happy or feel accomplished. No one had trusted her enough and that lack of trust had jaded her, making her not trust herself in turn. Well, Harry would have to change that and her idle thought became a plan when Merope spoke up beside her, her hand finally falling away from Harry as she slipped it into a fold of her blanket, looking for all her worth as if she was holding herself together.
"I don't have no money Harry..."
Harry could see the pain it had caused the older woman to admit that, likely another point that she had been ridiculed over and having lived through that, expecting Harry to do the same. Harry pushed back the lump that formed in her throat. She had lived through that too, the bullying that would come from the posher kids at school who saw her drowned in Dudley's clothes, her lunch box missing, her shoes held together with a roll of duct tape. Harry reached out, laying a hand on Merope's shoulder, forcing the woman to look at her as she smiled as big as she could.
"Don't worry, I have more than enough. It's not mine anyway, just stones I've transfigured to coins and notes, so really, as long as I don't die before they can be sold on we'll be fine. Here, take this purse, if we're going to get finished before sundown we are going to have to split. You find a place, I'll get the food."
Harry let go of Merope's shoulder and reached to the thin leather belt that hung around her waist, pulling off one of the purses dangling there, the bigger one of crushed velvet and passed it to Merope, watching as the woman took it and held it to her chest, eyes wide in unadulterated panic. Harry, as much as she wanted to take that ghastly look from Merope's eyes did nothing of the such. Merope needed to try. She needed to feel confident in herself. And in so, Harry would give her the most important task, a place to live in and when, because it would be a when and not an if, Merope came back with a place to sleep in, Harry would congratulate her wholeheartedly. If she didn't, Harry would still congratulate her for trying. She trusted Merope, she believed in her, it was time the woman did the same. The only way that was going to happen was if she actually did something. Yes, Harry was throwing her into the deep end, but she had a feeling under all that grime and dead-eyed dispassion, she was a force to be reckoned with. Sink or swim, so was the way of life.
"H-H-Harry, I d-don't think I can do t-this. You should-"
Harry dropped her suitcase to the floor, distantly hearing the splodge as it hit the soggy ground, swivelling to face Merope dead on as she reached up and grabbed her by her shoulders, her smile never dying down a single watt. She wished, back when she was bruised and stuttering and knobbly kneed, she had someone who would have held her and told her she could do all the things she had dreamed of. Just one person who believed in the small girl with no parents and a rusty cot for a bed. But she hadn't, she had no one back then. Merope would not be the same, not while she was still breathing for the truth was, as much as she could see Tom Riddle in Merope, the swerve of high cheekbone, the eye colour, she could see her nine-year-old self too. It hurt like a bitch, but it also gave Harry a chance to do all the things she wished someone had done for her. A chance to be the person she had so desperately needed.
"Of course you can Merry. Have some confidence... I trust you."
The last three words seemed to be made of the magic that thrummed through both their veins as Merope's manic panic that sharpened her pupils and thinned her lips dusted away like ashes on the cold wind that was blowing passed them. Merope's hands that had begun to wring at the purse and turn white lessened and her hunched shoulders dropped an inch.
"You trust me? You'll... Come back won't you?"
Harry gave a smooth nod, letting go only to bend down and reach to her side to pluck up her sodden suitcase, thankful she had charmed it from weather, opening, damage and extension all before leaving. Slowly straightening out, Harry held the suitcase out to Merope, chuckling as Merope cautiously took it as if it was a bomb about to explode.
"Needless to say I do. And I most definitely wouldn't be leaving my suitcase that holds all my belongings, everything I ever had if I weren't coming back, would I? Look, time is running out, I'll meet you back here in three hours and we'll head to the place you've found and settle in and tomorrow we'll explore. You can do this Merope. After all, you have just boarded a train across England with a complete stranger, what's a little house hunting after that?"
Merope blinked rapidly, her nose crinkled as she gave a jerking nod, mumbling to herself more than Harry.
"I can do this. Okay. Three hours time..."
Harry stepped away, idly running her hands down her clothes to iron out the imaginary creases, a habit from childhood and baggy clothes more than actual need, turned and began walking away, watching her step for any more innocuous puddles that seemed shallower than they were. She had only gotten a foot away when Merope's voice rang out from behind her, freezing her in place as she glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised in question at the quiet woman's sudden outburst.
"I like it!... Merry... I like that name..."
Harry smiled broadly, only to huff and dodge a step back as a man yelled out and a horse and cart trampled passed her, kicking up loose mud in their wake. Shaking her head at the swearing man, shoving down the urge to salute him with her middle finger, Harry only shouted back to Merope as she set off to find a grocery store or bakery of some kind.
"Merry it is! Merry and Harry! Remember, three hours! I'll see you soon!"
Harry was darting through the crowd and totally lost in the wildlife of Small Heath's humanity before Merope began to move, shuffling her feet, sticking close to the wall and away from the crowds, purse hidden in her shawl and suitcase tight to her side, a small slither of a smile lighting her down-turned face.
"Merry and Harry Gaunt... Like true sisters."
Merope P.O.V
Merope kept her head down, her eyes glued to the floor, only darting them up to take a quick survey of the area before they stuck themselves back to the floor. She kept as close to the walls and corners as possible, skirting around people and crowds. To say she was anxious, nervous, completely out of her depths would be an understatement of the century. She had no idea where she was, she knew not where to go, who to speak to, if she had to speak to anyone, or where she was supposed to find accommodation for her and Harry. Did you just walk into any old house, pay a person and that was that? Did she have to seek a special person? Was there a certain place she needed to find or would anywhere do? She was lost, metaphorically, physically and mentally. Her heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest, her breath came in quick bursts and she couldn't stop chewing the inside of her cheek until copper tinged her taste buds. Things couldn't get much worse.
However, like many times in her life, she was proven wrong when she scuttled around a corner, blinking rapidly at this new road when she saw them. Four men leaning against a wall, puffing on little white sticks she had seen many muggles do, laughing and eyeing the crowd that swarmed passed them. Merope was a lot of things, many unpleasurable, but she was not unobservant. She had seen men like them before. Seen the way their eyes tracked shiny trinkets and dangling purses. Seen them prowl and split, only to regain formation again around their victim. She knew what they thought, knew what happened and knew what came next. There had been many of their kind back home, too many until it was the main thought when a muggle was brought up. In a way, it only fuelled and solidified what her father had taught her about muggles.
So, when she tried to get by unnoticed, shoulders slumped, suitcase held in front of her like a shield, purse hidden from view and their eyes clocked hers, their blackened teeth grins growing, Merope did what she did best. She ran. Dashing into the crowd, she had no thought of where to go, no thought of asking for help, no other thought but to get away. When they followed, Merope didn't think twice when her pace picked up and she took a sharp right around a corner road, another right around a large building with sturdy glass windows and bolted for the door, yanking it open with more force she didn't think her thin body housed, slid in and resoundingly slammed the door shut behind her. Watching with wide eyes through the frosted glass door, she could see their silhouettes appear. Her heart froze, her breath clumped and with a nerve firing moment, she stayed completely still, hand still resting on the door handle.
The silhouettes carried on, bleeding into bleached grey and finally she could breathe and move again. Her head flopped against the door, clinking against the glass as her eyes rolled shut. She had to mentally urge her fingers to pry themselves from the cold brass door knob as she sagged against the door, breath coming fast and hot against the cool glass pressed against her forehead.
"Excuse me miss but we're shut until six."
Her muscles automatically seized, her eyes slamming open, pupils dilating before she sprang around, world spinning around her as she flipped, pressing her back to the glass and away from being exposed to the distinctly male voice that had reverberated from behind her, suitcase dropping to the floor with a thud in her haste and shot nerves. The room or house she was in was very strange indeed. She seemed to be in a very small hallway, three steps across if that, that led into a wide open space filled with tables and chairs clustered in pairs and groups. In the corner of the room, on the right-hand side stood a long table that looked to be attached to the floor topped with the same brass from the door knob. Behind this strange piece of furniture were shelves holding bottles upon bottles of multicoloured liquids. Did muggles have their own types of potions?
However, all mundane questions were swept away from her mind like cobwebs in a hailstorm when she spotted the man with the voice. He stood innocently in the middle of this spacious room, white apron on top of pressed slacks and a grey button up, hair left unslicked, broom paused mid sweep against the unglossed hardwood flooring. He... He was smiling at her, big and true and without a hint of mocking or malice. Merope panicked.
"I'm sorry. I'll go."
Her limbs were obnoxiously uncoordinated as she scrambled for the door knob, missing a few times as she kicked over and stumbled against the suitcase lying at her feet, grimacing as she hoped she hadn't damaged any of Harry's belongings. Would Harry get mad? The same time she stumbled against the wall, nearly loosing her balance in her frantic haste to wrench the door open and run, the man whose smile had splintered dropped his broom, making her jump when it thunked against the floor, jogging for her but thankfully stopping a foot away. She didn't know what she would do if he came too close while she didn't have anywhere to run to.
"Aye love, It's alright... Calm down, just gave me a bit of a fright the way you came rushing in here in a flurry of skirts. Are you alright miss? You're looking a bit peaky. Why don't you come in, take a breather, sit down for a bit and I'll fetch you a drink? Free of charge?"
Her hand shook against the doorknob, her eyes flickering up to meet his, her heart stalling its gallop when he smiled brightly at her, drew back and over to a table and chairs, pulled one out slowly and strolled over to the oddest table she had ever seen, slipping behind it as he pulled out a clean glass from what looked like underneath the table. Swallowing reflexively, against the screaming in her mind to run, Merope's hand slipped away from the door handle and she found her feet moving by themselves, taking her to the open chair. The wood creaked as her weight pushed into it, her eyes couldn't choose between staring at the table or the man pouring water into a glass. She jumped once more when the glass was put in front of her, her hands jolting to wind her shawl closer around her, her hair falling over her shoulder and blocking half the room from her vision, but unfortunately not the man who was still smiling so brightly at her of all things, and seating himself down in the chair opposite her.
"What are you doing around here then? Not from around these parts are you? Not with that accent."
Merope didn't know what to say, what to do, whether to bolt or stay seated. Instead, she chose to reach out for the water, picking it up with both shaking hands and bringing it to her parched lips, gulping down the cool liquid, licking her chapped lips. Each time she opened her mouth to say something and nothing came out, she pretended to go for another drink, embarrassed as she was watched by the jovial man in front of her. Was this how you found a house? Was it this simple?
"No, I'm not from around here. Me and my sister... We're on a trip. Just arrived today. You... You don't happen to have a place we can rent, do you?"
Finally, the man's smile broke and fell away and so did Merope's heart. She had thought... Wasn't this... Why did he have so many tables and chairs if it weren't a house you can rent? Where many people could live? Did he just collect them? What an odd, odd man and Merope would admit that was coming from someone like her. However, shame and embarrassment pounded her like autumn rain as he ran a hand through his hair, eyes breaking from her form as her stomach dropped to the soles of her feet. No. Of course she had it wrong, she always did. Why did she even try any more?
"Well, the thing is I do but this is no place for people like yourself, nor a younger sister. You seem very sweet you do, shy too, too shy and sweet for a place like this. If your sister is anything like you, you'll be eaten alive. No, sorry, best you find somewhere else."
Merope gave a stilted nod, relinquishing her hold on the glass of water as she made for the door, planning a quick escape from both the flustered man and her self-derision of having failed at something once again. Though, as her hand braced against the door frame of the inner door leading to the one that opened to the outside world, she stiffened, boot half raised in step.
The men from outside were no new thing to her, she had seen them before, had dealt with them before, had grown up in a cess pool of them. Harry... Friendly, beautiful and compassionate Harry had not. Eaten alive would be exactly what would happen to the red-head. She couldn't let that happen. Harry had done so much for her in such a short amount of time, too much, the most anyone had ever done for her in her whole life. She wouldn't let that slide passed unpaid. This was an adventure Harry had told her, a chance at new beginnings and a happy family. And what? Because of her, Harry would be sleeping in the cold, damp and dangerous streets?
No.
Sisters protected one another. That's what they did. Harry was her sister, or would be, is, was, could be? It didn't matter. Sisters looked out for one another. She could do this. She could. No. That was wrong too. There was no could about it, she would. Her boot landed on the floor with a muted thud as her spine stiffened and she slowly turned around, marching over to the table she had just vacated, bracing both hands against the wood as she squarely, the first time in her life, stared at the man head on, no hair curtain to protect her, no averted eyes. Harry had given her the answer just this morning. Don't think. Just do.
"No. You say you have a room? We'll take it. I'm good at cleaning you see, real good. You don't have help around here, do you? Or you wouldn't be sweeping the floor yourself. You obviously need it, I can see dust lining those shelves from all the way over here. What's going to happen is this, we rent the room and in payment, I'll work four days a week."
The man roamed her with his eyes, from the tips of her toes to the last lock on her head. Her will didn't lesson, she never pulled away, not one inch as she bared down upon him. Then, against all the odds, the man smiled at her once more.
"Five days, no pay for the work and a dance and you have yourself a deal."
Her cheeks hurt by how widely she smiled, pulling away from the table, practically bouncing on her feet in excitement. She had done it! The added dance in the deal meant nothing at the moment, not when she felt so fantastic. She couldn't wait to tell Harry.
"My name's Merope Gaunt and you have a deal."
Remembering her manners last second, Merope sharply jutted her hand out, fingers bone straight. The man stood, more slowly reaching out to clasp her hand in a warm palm and calloused fingers, shaking up and down three times before Merope pulled her hand away from the welcoming heat.
"Harry Fenton."
Merope could only watch as he went over to the front door, bending down to pick up Harry's... Her Harry's suitcase. This was going to get confusing. She was blurting out before she could quell her tongue.
"Can I call you Fenton? My sister's name is Harry, well, Harriet but she likes to be called Harry..."
Luckily the man, Fenton, didn't seem to mind her rambling as he gave her a blessed chuckle and nod, his hair flopping into his eyes as he carried the suitcase over to a door in the very back of the room Merope had not noticed until that point. He opened it with a twist of the wrist and a sweep of his long arm, jerking his head back into the open space in invitation.
"It's a good name that's why, call me whatever you want. Let me show you the room, it's only one bed and a bit on the rough side but I'm sure it'll be as good as any you will find around here with a bit of love and care. This way Miss Gaunt."
Merope never noticed her smile didn't wane for a single second since it had bloomed, growing so bright and big, the biggest she had ever smiled before, as she walked over to follow Fenton up the staircase in the room he had just opened up. She never once stuttered. She never once tried to hide behind her hair. She never once stumbled. She didn't reach for her shawl. Her shoulders didn't cave. As the door closed behind the pair, the two chatting amicably, if not a bit disjointed in places, Merope had never felt so good before.
Harry's P.O.V
Harry had been walking for an hour straight and was utterly, completely, absolutely lost. Every alley looked the same, every road led to another, twist and turns that took her in complete circles. However, hope was on the horizon as she passed a rusting sign dangling off a brick wall that simply stated Singers Hill. She had no idea where that was or what it had to do with actually finding a place she could buy food from, but it was new and that had to mean her wandering would soon be over right? Harry sighed and rubbed tiredly at her eyes. Merlin, she hoped she was right.
To be completely frank, she was feeling rather disappointed and upset with herself. If she had have been in the wizarding world she would have known where to go, what to do and everything in between. It was simple there, she knew the rules, she had grown up in it. However, irrevocably faced with the muggle world and finding herself completely lacking in knowledge, basic knowledge of where the fuck to find food showed her the truth. She didn't know or understand the world her mother came from. Half of her parentage, lineage, half her ancestral line was completely unknown. And in so, she didn't understand her mother, for how could she if she didn't understand where she had come from, how she lived until she was eleven and then half the year onwards? It was a blow to be sure. She knew so much about her father, his life, his world, yet knew next to nothing about her mother. What did that say about her?
Taking a breather, Harry paused and lent up against an iron railing that encased a rather impressive building, folding her arms over her chest and crossing her legs at the ankles as she relaxed and surveyed the foreign territory around her. When in doubt, watch. That was a nugget of gold Mad-eye had given her before his untimely but inevitable death.
However, there wasn't much to watch but passers-by going about their daily business. Well, that was true until a lady in her older years, weighed down by the wicker baskets and paper bags she carried, sixty at the youngest, sloothed just passed her vantage point from the other side of the road... Or mud path. She was a little thing and that was ironic coming from someone's of Harry's stature, drapped in worn but warm clothing, white hair wrapped in a faded headscarf, laugh lines and merry crows feet marring her obviously once beautiful face.
In a way it was still beautiful, the lines and wrinkles showed a life lived, a happy one by the looks of it. She wondered if her mother would look like that, if her face would tell the same story. However, her eyes were diverted from the woman from across the road when three men, flat caps shielding darkened eyes began to gain speed on her, circling like vultures. You didn't live through the war Harry had without being able to spot the bad seed in an apple from a mile off and these people, they smelled rancid.
Harry knew what would come next, but just as she had tensed, kicking off the railing and began running for the woman full pelt, the men acted. One, the tallest of the little group, pushed the old ladies shoulder harshly, another, the smallest, snatched what looked to be the ladies satchel... The place where she would keep her money. The third, however, just for good measure to be sure, as the lady tumbled to the ground, hitting the pavement harshly, threw a kick into the mix. The three were laughing and running just as Harry skidded to a stop in front of the fallen lady.
Harry waisted no time, pushing the spilling bags away from the woman, she wrapped an arm around her torso and as gently as she could, dragged her to the brick wall to lean her back against as the woman groaned in pain. Glancing over her form with quick and alert eyes, partially due to her war efforts and the year she spent in Auror training before she dreamed up this merlin damned plan, she noticed nothing was wrong. No blood, no cuts, no dislocations. Bruises would follow, she would ache badly but she would live. Resting her hand on the woman's cheek, she finally made eye contact with Harry. Harry smiled pleasantly, calmly and spoke in hushed but reassuring tones that would hopefully ease the poor elderly woman that had just gotten mugged.
"Stay right here, don't move. I'll be right back."
The lady didn't have time to speak or question as Harry had already straightened and ran in the direction she had seen the men take. She found them when she rounded the corner, the biggest and medium one taking a right in the fork road as the smallest took the left. it was the smallest one that had taken the bag so when she reached the fork herself, pushing people out of her way, feet pounding though her heart was calm, Harry diverted to the left too. Luckily he wasn't a fast runner, nor was he expecting to be caught or chased after as his pace began to slow, laughter bubbling up and echoing through the chill air. He wasn't laughing long, not when Harry's arms wrapped around his torso and she sent both him and herself sailing into an alley way, the bag dropping from his hand and skidding further down the dead end.
Slow the man may be, a complete bastard too for stealing from an old lady, but a fighter he was Harry found out as his fist swung back as far as it could and connected with her cheek, knocking her off him and into the ground bellow them. Harry could feel the split in her skin, the bruise already tingling and the faintest trickle of blood. However, he didn't knock her too far and with a bit of a dizzying moment of regaining her bearings, she swung her elbow back and clocked the fucker in the throat, nearly grinning as she heard him cough and hack, unable to breathe as she dug her elbow further into his windpipe. And just for good measure, for the fucking state he had put her cheek in, Harry kept her elbow in place, but squatted up, rearing her other fist back and solidly connecting it to his nose, hearing the crunch and tear of tendon and bone. Fucker deserved it. She only let him up when he started choking on his own blood and began going blue in the face.
He scrambled up, cradling his broken nose, awkwardly picking up his hat that must have fallen down in the tackle and pointed an accusatory finger towards her, backing out of the alley way in slippery slides, nearly loosing his balance and toppling over in places. Harry found the whole thing quiet hilarious until he spoke, spittle and blood flying, his words slurred and confusing yet setting dread into her pumping veins. What had she started and gotten herself into now?
"You fucking bitch! You'll pay, you'll see. No one fucks with a Peaky blinder and gets away with it. Wait until boss hears about this, He'll gauge your god-damned eyes out! Just you fucking wait!"
Then he was gone, floundering down the road as if he had one too many whiskeys that day. Harry only sighed as she stood up, dusting her hands off on her ruined skirt, looking around her for the item that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Who was she kidding? It was her bloody Hero complex that had done that since she was eleven. Finding the bag, Harry crouched and picked it up and began to walk back the way she had run, the man nowhere in sight. She would deal with the threat later when she didn't have a bag to return and Merope to get back to.
She didn't know whether it was the adrenaline rush that had made her running seem so short, but the walk back felt like it took forever, especially with the pulse of pain emanating from her cheekbone, splintering out into her eye, promising a headache in her near future. She didn't rightly care, not when she found the woman in the same spot she had left her, only now sitting up against the brickwork with her bags neatly stacked next to her. Still, Harry's teeth ground when she saw the people walk passed, not even glancing her way. What was wrong with some people?
When Harry came into the ladies sight, she smiled only for it to crumble as her eyes locked onto Harry's cheek and mud-caked clothing, her voice filled with warmth like a shot of fire-whiskey. Her hand reached out, shaking with gnarled and knotted knuckles, fingers more like claws then hands.
"Oh, you poor thing! Are you in pain? Do you need to sit?"
Harry chuckled, dimples flashing as she crouched next to the old lady, dropping the bag into the woman's lap as she felt the woman's twitching fingers ghost across her swelling cheek.
"Shouldn't I be asking you those questions? I'm fine, truly. Are you? Do you want me to get a doctor? Do you have anybody I could Cal-... Find?"
The woman shook her head, eyes still lingering on the cut on Harry's face.
"Nothing these old bones can't handle. Thank you. Really. Not many Gentiles would do such a thing."
The old lady smiled, her teeth slightly wonky on the bottom row with one missing from the back, she heaved as she pulled her bag on, hands planting themselves onto the pavement as she began to push herself to stand. Harry reacted on instinct, pushing back her bewilderment of what the hell was a gentile, wrapping an arm around her waist to take the brunt of the weight, only letting go when the woman seemed stable on her feet and began to bend to pick up the bags and wicker basket. Harry beat her to the goal, silently and wandlessly casting a weightless charm. It would do her no good to cast a spell in the full view of the public, even in the alley way with that man, people had wandered passed. No. That was just asking for a witch hunt. Literally.
"Leave them, I can carry those. You've taken quiet a fall."
To put on a show, a very muggle show, Harry pretended to strain a little with the bags, not enough to guilt the lady but enough so she wouldn't question why she was juggling them around like air balloons. Harry felt before she saw the old woman as she gently patted her face in affection, luckily the side of her face that wasn't aching terribly, her hand lingering there for a few split seconds.
"You're a good girl with a heart of gold. A real Bubala if I ever did see one."
Okay, she was sure muggles weren't as confusing in her time as they seemed to be in the past. When they had been on speaking terms and alive, Hermione's parents had loved her. Now it seemed she would be lucky if she understood every forth word spoken.
"A bubala? Should I be offended?
It looked to be an unspoken agreement that Harry would walk the old lady to her home when they both began walking down the road, the way the lady had been heading before this whole horrid mishap. Harry let her lead but made sure to stick close encase she was actually worse off than Harry had originally thought. The woman's tap, tap, tap of sturdy heels against concrete was oddly soothing.
"A bubala is a darling. You're not from around here are you? Have you come from London? Oh, don't look at me like that, you don't get to my age without an ounce of smarts and a bit of luck. You do realize... You do know I am Jewish?"
Harry faltered in her step. Of course, she had heard of Judaism before, but not much, not much of anything not involving the wizarding world in fact. It was, she thought, a religion, though, wasn't it? Was religion to muggles as blood purity was to wizardry kind? By the woman's quickly falling face, she hazard that was a yes. So, in this strange world she now found herself in, people would expect her to be turned off by religion? That she would regret what she did because of someone's beliefs in afterlife's and gods? They had another thing coming. A person's religion didn't make them, their actions did and so far, this little old lady was nothing short of a bright soul. Still, a nagging voice in the back of Harry's mind rang like a siren. Religious people hated her kind the most. Harry purposely picked her up the pace slightly when they began to slow, looking back at the lady with a smile and a cheeky wink.
"Is that meant to mean anything to me? You have a heartbeat, don't you? You have thoughts and Feelings? You're human, just like the rest of us."
The old lady chuckled and patted Harry's shoulder, her smile reappearing on her face, brighter and less worried etched than before. Harry felt relieved by the twinkle in her eye. It just didn't sit right in her gut when the woman became anything but happy. Though, yet again, that may be down to her ever present hero complex.
"As I've said, a right Bubala. What are you doing down these parts anyway? Not many venture down here."
Harry carried on walking straight when the old ladies hand came up to wrap around her bicep, gently tugging her to turn down a small, narrow road with buildings that looked like they had been squished together, tall and thin. Though the road was small there seemed to be an oppressive nature about it. The buildings towered over you, too many to count, lining each side. There wasn't a single paving stone in sight, trodden paths from doorstep to doorstep. Harry supposed the sky didn't help, there was no lamppost in sight and the sun was sinking... If you could have seen the sun through the clouds in the first place.
"You see it's my first day here, you got that right, just came down from London with my older sister. I was looking for a grocery shop or a bakery but had no luck and ended up getting lost."
The woman stuttered to a stop in front of one of the imposing buildings, this one different from all the rest, a plaque nailed above the top of the chipped door, the writing foreign but elegant, like something Harry would have seen in an arithmancy lesson. The building held one window, barely a window at that, but the same writing that was on the plaque was painted in bold and golden lettering across the glass. The woman's laughter pulled her out from her pondering and wandering gaze.
"Well, you're in luck I must say. I own a bakery, this is it."
Harry watched as she swept an arm out, her hand flapping towards the building Harry had been gazing at. The old lady didn't stay still for long, digging a hand into her bag to pull out a comically big, rusted key as she toddled to the door, jamming it home and twisting the door open, disappearing into the depths. Harry took a sweeping scan of the empty road before she bolstered up and followed the lady. What could possibly go wrong?
Harry came into the hallway just after the woman had switched on the lights, a gas lamp in her hand as she too lit that up for extra light in the falling darkness. There was a large room, bare-floored but cosy with its warm woods, a staircase pushed up into a corner, likely leading to a bedroom and bathroom. In four rows in the middle of the room was metal shelving, all housing bread and pastry goods of all kinds, kinds Harry had never seen before. At the very back, farthest away from the window was a glass cabinet, just in front a door that led to a back room, the height just brushing Harry's waist, a till perched on top in a skewiff angle, a single set of a table and two chairs by its side, home knitted doilies and table clothe decorating it.
"Come in, come in! Take a seat, warm up, you're more than welcome in this house."
When Harry took her first steps into the cavernous room despite the narrow looking building, closing the door behind her with a backwards kick, the smell hit her, making her suck in a gulp of air through her nose, holding the smell in her nostrils, savouring it. Poppy seed, warm bread, buttered pastry, fruity smells drifted around her. Merlin, it all smelled wonderful but unfortunately reminded her of how hungry she was. Harry had just reached the table and was about to pull a chair out when she remembered her hands were full.
"Where do you want these miss?"
Harry asked as she held up the bags and wicker basket in question, jiggling them slightly. The woman waved her hand dismissively in front of her face as if blowing away a bad smell.
"Just put them down anywhere Bubala. Come, sit down, have something to eat and drink. All on the house."
Harry gave a distracted nod as she still looked around her, mindlessly putting the bags and basket down in front of the counter, finally taking a seat as the old lady disappeared into the back room. However, she wasn't gone long as she came out with plates, piling them onto the table only to go back into the back room to bring out more, her third time of doing this she instead brought out a silver platter, an old chipped tea pot, two cups, milk jug and sugar jar precariously balancing as she put the set smack bang in the middle of the table. The old lady sat down in the opposite chair, comfy things with worn velvet plush, reaching for the tea pot and two cups, hands shaking violently as she lifted the heavy tea pot, nearly splashing the table and ensemble of delicious looking goods with steaming tea, herself included. Harry jolted into action, grabbing the pot and softly prying it away from the woman, sending a smile as she filled the two cups.
"Here, let me. Thank you, honestly, you didn't have to do this. I didn't do all that much-"
The old lady cut her off, stern expression and onyx eyes fixed on Harry. Harry wasn't afraid to admit she nearly swallowed her tongue, shrinking back like a child who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"Bupkes! You have done more for me than any other person in a long time since I came to this country from Russia. Now, no arguments, eat. You're much too small, need to put some meat on those bones."
Harry chuckled, gingerly picking up a triangular... Biscuit? That seemed to be filled with a jam of some sort. The older woman seemed to approve of her choice by her upturned nose and secret smile.
"That's called Hamantaschen. Always were one of my favourites."
Harry took a delicate bite, groaning when orange and honey hit her tongue, going in for an even bigger bite once she swallowed, washing it all down with a good sip of hot tea.
"These are delicious! So, how long have you been here?"
Harry tried to be polite, even starting a conversation, she really did, but she couldn't help polishing off the biscuit and reaching for another. The old lady didn't seem to mind by the pleasant grin she threw Harry's way, pushing the plate further across the table and towards Harry. If all these tasted like this... Hamantaschen, she really was going to put meat on her bones, just not in the right places.
"That's because it's all Kosher. Do you mean in Birmingham or England? I've been in England for just over thirty years now. Though, I originally lived in London myself too, Camden, do you know it? It's a bit off the beaten track so I don't suppose you will. My nephew still lives there you know. Good boy he is, like you, a heart of gold under all the bravado and sarcasm. Here, I'll pack some of this up for you to take home. It's getting late and a pretty girl like you shouldn't be on the street when the moons up. I'm sorry, my mind gets away with me sometimes, what's your name?"
Harry finished her last biscuit and drank the rest of her tea quickly before speaking. Seemingly out of nowhere, like a magic trick, the woman pulled out a plain paper bag, sliding plates to the rim and letting the biscuits, cakes and breads topple in. Harry opened her mouth to argue but by the glare thrown at her, wisely shut her mouth, changing tactic.
"Harriet but just Harry is fine. What's yours?"
Once the bag was filled, the old lady rolled down the rim, closing it as far as the stuffed bag allowed her too, standing as Harry stood, handing the bag over to the flustered red-head. She hadn't done what she had done to get payment of some kind, she had done it because it was the right thing to do. However, when the old lady patted her cheek once more, twinkle back in her eye, Harry couldn't help but smile back. It was like looking at a person that housed all of Dumbledore's good points but none of his bad.
"Rania, but you... You can call me Bubbe."
Harry nodded, balancing the bag in one arm to reach down to her own purse, digging the fingers in to pull out the gold coins housed there only to yelp as Bubbe's hand smashed hers away from the purse.
"None of that, we were getting along so well. Don't ruin that now."
The guilt hit Harry when she looked around. While the house was surprisingly open, well furnished and warm, if you looked closely you could see the hints of the poverty. The chipped tea set, the cracked glass of the cabinet, the slight tilt of the metal shelving. Harry couldn't possibly make off with a good amount of her baking without nothing in return. It didn't feel right. Bubbe had just nearly gotten mugged too, she couldn't afford just to give away her lively-hood.
"I can't just take your goods, I wouldn't be able to sleep. Please, take at least a few shillings, a guinea or two."
Bubbe smiled crookedly, her bent fingers fiddling with the edge of her dangling head scarf.
"I'll tell you what, come back tomorrow at noon and you can help me role out the doughs. In exchange, you can have all the baked goods you want."
Harry reached once more for her purse, this time snatching it from her belt, uncaring if she tore her belt or the purse.
"Surely that can't be all I can offer. If you're worried, don't be. I have more than enough to pay-"
Bubbe reached over and pushed her hands, which was still holding her purse, into Harry's chest, slowly shaking her head in the negative.
"At my age Bubala, good company and better help is all we can ask for. You see my hands don't you? They aren't what they used to be, in fact, you'll be doing me another favour by helping me here. This bakery is all I have left, I don't know what I would do if I had to give it up. What do you say?"
Harry searched her eyes, dark and glittering with hope. It was obvious by the street urchins and the poor state of this place jobs were hard to come by, practically mythical. Plus, it would help her blend into the populace, stem any questions that popped up about her money but lack of income. While Merope was her main worry, her main reason for being here, Harry had to accept the fact she was never going back home, back to her home time. She would live the rest of her days, numbered or long, in this place, she needed to build a life here. What better way to start that then having a job? And if worst came to worse, Merope could tag along. Bubbe was the type of person Harry wanted Merope around, warm and gentle, true and honest, a good person that could show Merope the world wasn't all beatings and fright. Finally, after a long pause, Harry slid her purse back onto her belt and gave a nod.
"Tomorrow noon it is Bubbe. Stay safe now, lock the doors after I've left. Are you sure you are going to be fine?"
Bubbe laughed, ushering her to the door of the bakery.
"Yes, yes. I still have some fight in me yet, a little fall isn't going to take me out."
With a quick goodbye and a promise of tomorrow, Harry left the bakery in a high mood, missing the way Bubbe stared after her, a joyous look pulling at her eyes and lips like strings were attached, missing Bubbe's whispered voice.
"Just like my nephew that one, bloodied knuckles and spitting like a viper but a kind soul buried deep."
Harry could hear Merope's breathes from beside her, even and calm, almost like she was sleeping. Harry would have thought so, if only Merope didn't toss or turn every five minutes, unfortunately jostling Harry awake every time she was about to slip into much-needed slumber. They would have to get another bed, this one, though large in size, would just not going to cut it if Harry ever hoped of having a full nights rest. It didn't help that Merope and she were freshly washed and in thin cotton shifts, Merope not wanting to dry her hair with a spell before bed, so Harry was being whipped with the wet locks every time she rolled.
She had met back up with Merope with seconds to spare back at the station. Harry had barely said Hello before Merope had practically jumped on her, dragging her to a pub of all things. Merope was bursting at the seems, smile humongous and filled with fizzing excitement, so much so Harry found it was infectious. When she had met Fenton, the man who would be their landlord, Harry had a small inkling of why Merope was so happy. After all, the two could barely keep their eyes from straying to each other when they thought no one was watching. The problem was, Harry always watched.
The two had dragged her to the upstairs flat, Fenton leaving to give them some space and Harry saw where they would be calling home until they left... If they left. It was two rooms, a bedroom/living room/bathroom with a little offshoot of a room that could be called a kitchen if looked upon in dark lighting. There was an old coal-stained fireplace, a rickety bed, a torn rug, a stained and queasy looking tin bath tub and a stove that looked more likely to blow your face off than actually cook something. However, when Merope had looked at her so hopeful, so proud, Harry couldn't do anything but join in saying Merope had found an amazing place.
Harry had gone around, casting a spell here and there to make the place clean, or at least habitual, as Merope sat on the bed, resting after Harry had urged her that she could handle the cleaning. It was at this time Merope's excitement seemingly fell and she finally saw the state of Harry's clothing and her cheek. Oddly enough, despite what Harry thought Merope would do, brush off the whole thing, Merope had hovered around her, questioning if she was okay, if she wanted a drink and a sit-down, asking, demanding to know what had happened. So, in a switch, it was actually Harry who tried to brush it all off, giving Merope a condensed version of what had happened, skipping out the men for an epic fall due to clumsiness. She only got Merope off her back with an offer of a warm bath. She regretted that when it took two hours to try filling the monstrous but now thankfully clean tub with boiling pots of water, only for Harry to give up on the second chime of the clock and filled and heated it magically, despite feeling tired and exhausted.
When the moon had reached its peak, now fresh and in nightclothes, fireplace lit cosily, full bellied, the two had retired to the bed and Harry found a new appreciation for the place. Now with the thick layer of dust gone, it reminded her of the little sleepy holes above the leaky cauldron and she was hit with a shot of nostalgia. She couldn't magically change too much, not if Fenton would come in and check, he would wonder how the hell they had done it and it would rise pointless questions. Questions best not asked.
Harry's eyes were just drifting shut once again when Merope flopped onto her back, one of her arms nearly winding Harry in the process. Fuck it, she was enlarging this bed tomorrow, Fenton or exposure be damned. Although, this time was different as Merope's voice joined her movement.
"I can't dance."
Sighing, Harry rolled onto her back too, staring up at the ceiling as she questioned what that had to do with anything. Her cheek still hurt but she couldn't heal it. Muggles had seen her with it, if they saw her tomorrow with it gone they would wonder how. Harry wanted to rub her eyes. Living with muggles was a lot harder than she had given it credit. Every action had to be questioned, planned, picked apart and put unassumingly back together again. What was that old saying? The world was a stage and by Merlin did she feel like an actor.
"What do you mean Merry?"
Silence fell for a while and Harry had thought Merope had finally gone to sleep until her voice cracked the fragile peace.
"I can't dance. Harry... Fenton asked me to dance but I can't..."
Unwarranted, a smile grew on Harry's face. It was times like these she remembered why she was here, what she was supposed to be doing. She was here for Merope, here to right their world that had gone so horribly wrong. Merope, despite her exterior and lack of anything to do with being social, was like any other person. She had hopes and dreams, she had failings and worries, she had problems but also talents. It was up to Harry to tend to those good parts. And from her brief but appraising meeting with Fenton, she could tell he was a good man. Merope needed someone like that in her life, maybe not for love or romance if it didn't work out, but as a friend, sure. If Merope was going to open up, she needed more than just Harry to lean on and talk to.
Without much hesitation, Harry jumped out of bed despite her tiredness, scrambling over Merope to drop onto the hardwood flooring, purposefully missing the board with the huge crack in it. Twirling around, the hem of her night-shift brushing the tops of her knee's, Harry put one hand behind her back and held her other out for a wide-eyed Merope to grab.
"Come on then, no time like the present to learn. I'm not the best, actually, scrap that, I'm shite at dancing but I know the basics. Come one, up, up, up! If you step on his toe, just blame him."
Cautiously, Merope grasped Harry's offered hand, yelp turning into a chuckle as Harry heaved her up and into her arms. Placing the hands in the right places, Harry taking up the men's role, the two began to slowly waltz around the room, Harry brokenly humming as she went, movements filled with stumbles, skids and near misses but equally filled with smiles and laughter as they danced in the dim light. Soon the dance broke down to fast twirls and reckless movements, totally losing rhythm and rhyme, though the laughter escalated, especially when Harry nearly fell into the fireplace after a rather poor interpretation of a ballerina, hair flipping around her, breathless from laughter.
In that dingy room, alone and shaded in shadows, above a pub in a strange city, all worries were thankfully lost for a while. Two people who had hard lives, lives that would make weaker men crumble, two people who always had to plan ahead, think of other people, push up that growing hill that was life with a boulders attached to their backs let everything go and simply lived in the moment, no thought of tomorrow or the day after present.
Two women who were totally unaware of what daybreak would bring in the form of a man with sky blue eyes and a debt to settle, a man in a dusty black coat and a flat cap that housed hidden razor blades. But that was daybreak, under moonlight, free and unbound, the two danced.
Next Chapter: Lie's are told that lead to a confrontation, The Shelby's finally make an appearance and Harry loses her temper...
A.N: Hello again. First off, I would like to say a thank you to all those that followed and favourited, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and where this fic is heading. To all those who reviewed, I send you a huge Thank you and a cyber hug! You guys are the best.
On the topic of reviews, I know I said the voting would stop on the 14th, but as I've put this chapter up a day early, I'm drawing it out until next Friday, so voting ends on the 21st October. So far I can give you these numbers.
Tommy/Harry- 2
Alfie/Harry- 3
Alfie/Harry/Tommy-5
So, no other pairing has been put forward and at the moment, Alfie/Harry/Tom is in the lead. If that is not the pairing you want to see or if you have your own suggestion for a pairing, please drop it in a review or P.M. Voting really does stop next week. Thank you to all those who voted.
Also, quick question, should I pair Merope up with someone, if so, who?
As for this chapter, the character of Bubbe was actually based on my step-grandmother. (I know, that's weird already.) I have a very varied family. My grandmother was an English protestant who married an Irish Catholic, they got divorced after having my mother and Aunt which was odd for the time, eventually, they both remarried. My grandfather Thomas married a French Jewish woman called Rania Solomon (Yes, she had the same last name as Alfie, I and my mother had a laugh about that) and my grandmother Elizabeth married a Hindu man, Rayansh Verma, who had my other Aunt. This happened before I was born. So, growing up I was surrounded by various backgrounds and multiple holidays. From Diwali, good Friday to Hanukkah. While I don't know a lot about Judaism, as myself aren't Jewish, I do know a little from my grandmother, or Bubbe as I used to call her ( Grandmother in Yiddish) and she called me Bubala which means darling. She was a big part of my life, sadly she's gone now, so I couldn't stop myself from adding a bit of her into this. Plus, you know what they say, write what you know.
Why am I telling you all this? So while I may add in Jewish traditions, sayings or practices, please excuse any mistakes I make as I only know the very basics of a deep and rich history of old traditions.
Well, that's all for now, please drop a review, they feed the muse. And please, please, please vote. Be it in P.M, review or homing pigeon. Until next time, stay beautiful! -AlwaysEatTheRude21