~Early In The Morning ~
~Watery Lane~
Dylan, a tall man with robust patience but lack of intelligence, studiously stood at the office door, his uncertainty filled eyes flickering between his two compadres loitering in the boxed room and out the door, taking in the goings on of the underground betting shop, watching, waiting for that a poignant head of hair to pass into vision, nervously chewing sloppily on his thumbnail, saliva dribbling down his chin.
Lyle, the middle man of the rag-tag group was a man of very few things. A man that was candidly neither here nor there. A man one would forget as soon as pupils passed over his mundane form. A sheep for all intents and purposes. He was plain in looks, un-note worthy in mannerism and void of anything that made him stand out from the many others that roamed the streets. Lyle was a man among many that the history books would not house in its numerous pages. Lyle stood in the corner of the room near the open window, staring pointedly at the opposite wall, fiddling with a cuff tear in his old shirt.
Fredrick, or Rick as he was known amongst those he worked with, was the one who made up for the lack of his colleagues. A short man, high-strung temper with a penchant for fire and explosives was what drew the eyes of the Peaky Blinders in the first place. Rick didn't do his... Job because it paid well, he didn't do it because he feared what the Shelby's would do to him in retribution if he should decline one day. He did it because he liked it. He liked the extra attention it brought him when those two words passed his lips, he liked the recognition when people realized what he was a part of, he adored the fear that would glittered in their eyes when they thought they had snubbed him. For a man like Fredrick, it played well to his overfed and undeserving pride.
However, he wasn't laughing now. He wasn't glowing. He wasn't getting pissed at the local pub, boasting of his latest antics or who he was. No, he was sitting in an old chair at a desk, brow heavy on his eyes as he scowled and snarled at the empty chair in front of him, waiting just like the other two were. Wincing and huffing like a pig when his nose flared up in pain, the remnants of blood still on his top lip, his eyes and nose swollen, nose sitting unnaturally on his face, a large and oozing cut from ripped skin from a shard of dislodged bone cutting across his bridge in a jagged line, the home stitches did nothing to repair the damage. That bitch had scarred him, had marred him. Him.
Although, eyes glancing to Dylan at the door before zapping to Lyle at the wall, they did not know it was a her that had done the deed. God forbid. No, and neither would Mr. Shelby. He wanted revenge, needed it, his bruised sense of worth demanding just that, but he wasn't willing to further damage his aching ego by admitting to anyone that it was a five-foot fuck all woman that had put him in this state.
He had told his two friends, if you could use the term friends, it had been a renegade gypsy that had travelled into his... The Shelby's territory that had done this. A gypsy fucker who thought that by attacking him, the bastard could shove one home on the Shelby's and he, a loyal friend was willing to set the record straight on their behalf. He would be getting revenge and likely a boost up in the hierarchy from the big boys for his valiant efforts of protecting their name. It was a win-win situation. It all just balanced on which Shelby brother got to the office first.
The Shelby brothers, whichever came through the door first, hopefully the eldest, wouldn't question anything. Not one idle thought, it was no secret about the budding turmoil simmering under the surface, readying to pop when it came down to the Lee's and the Shelby's. Rick would use that to his advantage. He didn't have to worry about a war kicking off between the two, after all no gypsy's would be hurt. Just a sanctimonious red-headed bitch.
"Here's here! Ricky, he's here."
Ricky swivelled in his seat, looking towards the doorway, trying to fruitlessly straighten his face. Some days, most days, he was just one idiotic remark away from putting a bullet in both Lyle's and Dylan's heads. Of course, Dylan wouldn't elaborate on who he was, he didn't think there was a need to, but Rick knew there was dire need to know which Shelby you would be dealing with in situations. Your life could depend on it, especially when one was planning on deception.
Arthur was the easiest. A few right fraised words, a compliment threw in here and there and the oldest Shelby brother would eat out of the palm of your hand. Arthur was the Shelby brother Rick wanted walking through that door in moments. John, the youngest was slightly harder to get around, but if you knew him, had worked for him for a while which Fredrick had, he was just as easy to get around as his eldest sibling. If you bombarded him with information John would forget to question and simply agree to get you to shut the fuck up and leave. Thomas, or Tommy however...
He was the tricky bastard. He picked apart people's words as if they were frayed threads. He saw through lies like they were glass. He just seemed to know before even yourself knew what the hell you were doing. Rick fucking hated Tommy Shelby with a passion, but beggars can't be choosers and Tommy was one of the biggest paying entrepreneurs for men like him. So, he would wine and dine with the devil, for as long as it paid out for him.
Dylan scuttled away from the door, politely nodding his head as a tall man sauntered passed, iconic cap off and coat slung over his forearm... Black hair windswept and blue eyes zeroing in on Rick within seconds, cigarette perched between his lips. Fredrick was fucked. Of course it would be just his luck, the one time he was howling for blood, foaming at the mouth for it, it would be Thomas he would have to get through to get it. Where the hell was Arthur when you needed him?
"What do I owe the pleasure for lads?"
Rick turned back in his seat and pathetically sniffed, grimacing at the sharp twist of pain to his nose. He kept his eyes diverted from Tommy, even when his bored laced tone rang out, instead choosing to stare intently at the edge of the desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tommy throw his coat over the back of his desk's chair, sitting primly down with a muted huff as he turned to face Rick. See? Tommy knew exactly who to turn to, who to question, who to observe without a single one of them uttering a word in return. When Rick didn't begin to speak, Tommy took it upon himself to speak for him. Rick really, really, despised the man.
"Let me guess, it has to do with that lump that somewhat resembles a nose?"
Dylan starting floundering at Tommy's brash remark, spittle flying from his mouth.
"It was this gypsy scum-bag boss, he-"
"Dylan!"
Rick cut across as he glared at the brick in human form. How stupid could you be to start insulting gypsies in the presence of one of the Shelby's? Let alone Tommy? While the Shelby's did everything to distance themselves from their heritage, it was no secret how fervently they disciplined anyone who thought they were big enough to take a shot at it or down talk to them about it. He wanted to leave this office with permission, not a Glasgow smile to go along with his already busted nose. Straightening out, Rick finally brought his gaze to Tommy, nervously pulling on his suit jacket lapels as he tried to salvage the situation.
"We were down Singer's hill Mr. Shelby. We were heading home, all good and that when we split for the night. One of the Lee's men jumped out at me on the way home, did this to my face, laughing and joking about how he got one over on a Peaky Blinder. Said it ought to give you boys a lesson..."
That was the way he was going to win this, to play on their image, to act like it was threatened. Tommy scanned him with his eyes, his cold, calculating chips of glacial ice. Slowly, Tommy crossed one leg over the other, folded his hands on his lap and locked eyes once more, raising one brow high on his forehead. Rick swallowed deeply.
"One man you say? Are you sure it was a Lee? Not their usual modus operandi... Fredrick, is it? No. They normally roam in groups those Lee boys."
Tommy drawled as he took a drag, plucking out the cigarette and flicking the ash into an ashtray at the edge of the desk. This is why he hated this man so much, loathed him to the marrow of his bones. Tommy, being around a man like that, it made you feel small, stupid, insignificant, lesser. Fredrick wasn't lesser. It was exactly how that bitch back in the alleyway had made him feel, only he had a shot of getting even with her, unlike Mr. Shelby. So, he would push down his pride, he would lock down on his hate and aim it at a target it could actually hit. The red-head. Rick's teeth ground together as he answered.
"It was dark Mr. Shelby, there could have been more. I'd had a few pints down at the pub you see, hence why he got the upper hand in the first place. Had I been in my right mind I-"
Tommy scoffed, moving his gaze to the wall as if Rick wasn't even worth the effort to look at. Rick's skin crawled with indignation, only rippling faster the longer Tommy spoke.
"In your right mind is right Fredrick. In your right mind, you wouldn't have gotten shit faced and a hook for a nose for nothing. In your right mind, you wouldn't be in this very office pissing and moaning. You come into my office, acting the victim, spinning yarns about dark alleys and scary Lee boys and expect me to what? Hold your hand and take you to the gypsies, talk to this man's mother, get him to say he's sorry? So everyone can kiss and make up? Is that it? How about you get to the matter here and stop wasting my time, I have a busy day and no time to play nanny to a bunch of grown men."
Ricks temper snapped, his fist slamming down onto the table with rattling force, breathing heavy from his mouth, red-faced and wobbly cheeked.
"Wasting time is anything but what I am doing... Mr. Shelby. They... The man purposely brought up your name, the Peaky Blinders name, he prodded something he shouldn't have. He's cocky. How long before word spreads? How long before more and more men think they can get away with doing this to a Peaky Blinder? How long before the words Peaky Blinder is nothing but mud? It just takes that one time, I'm telling you that. What I came here to ask is to set this man straight. To set the record straight. I was drunk that night, I won't be this time. Let me sort this out."
Tommy huffed, snubbing the red-tipped cigarette out in the metal tray, pushing to a stand as he undid the button of his blazer, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets as he glared down at Rick. However, this time, Rick didn't waver. He was going to get his pound of flesh even if he didn't have the backing of a Shelby, hell or high water, he promised himself that. But if he got the backing from a Shelby, he would have back up in the form of Dylan and Lyle, as useless as they were, there was strength in numbers and by god, he wanted the little bitch running scared.
"Don't pretend this is for me or the name. This is one simple thing. Revenge. Do not lie to me, Fredrick."
Rick's hand fell from the table but formed a tight fist in his lap, his teeth grinding faster, the tension cut-able as the two faced off. Then, a head popped in through the open door, Arthur's thick accent splintering the dense air around them.
"Oi, Tommy, some lads here about a shipment from the BSA? Said you might want to see this."
Tommy gave Rick one last scan before he cricked his neck, nodding towards Arthur as he began following Arthur out of the room, pausing in the doorway, waving a dismissive hand at the three men left, voice distracted and distant.
"Do you have a name?"
Rick itched his chin with blunt, jagged nails, bewildered by this question. The problem with a man like Fredrick was he believed he was more than he was. Smarter, faster, better... He was none. His blown ego didn't match the facts and that was what would be his downfall. From his own questioning around town, the little he had done, he had picked up a name and thankfully, it sounded like a lads, so Tommy would be none the wiser. Not seeing where this turn of questioning would land him or the person he was gunning for, or the harm it would cause, Rick gave up the information with a hopeful grumble.
"Harry Gaunt."
Tommy gave a stiff nod before beginning his walk away again, shouting his orders over his shoulder to the three men who were watching him with expectant eyes.
"I'll deal with it. You get back to work, I don't want to hear a single word about any of you going near this man, understand? We don't need a war breaking out because you lot can't keep your guns in their holsters."
Tommy was gone before Rick could start blubbering and lashing at a rebuff, anything to change what Tommy had said, anything to change the sudden right turn this course of action had taken him. Nearly blue in the face from pent up anger and uneasy in the gut, like a barbed wire was wrapped around his intestines, Rick froze, even as the imbeciles names Lyle and Dylan began chatting amicably amongst themselves. Then he came back to racing life, sweeping his arm across the table, sending the ash try flying and sailing through the air, smashing into the chipped painted wall, raining down in shards as he yelled one word.
"Shit!"
Shit indeed. He really was a fucked man now. If there was one thing Tommy Shelby didn't like, it was being lied to and Rick, in all his anger and thirst had done so to his face. He was in the deep. He needed to leave and disappear fast. The little bitch would have to wait.
~The Garrison Pub~
Harry huffed and rolled her shoulders as she slid three pints down the bar to a waiting threesome, sweeping her arm out and scooping up the change that was left on the top, payment for the drink she had just served. It had been a week now, a full week, seven days, 168 hours since she had rolled the dice and went tumbling her way into the past on the tail end of endless hope and a hazy summer dream to make a better world. Despite all the odds, all the struggles, all the questions and what ifs that plagued her in the middle of the night, whether this had been the right thing to do or not, Harry had been having a good time.
Her days had been routine filled, almost rigid and strict in its coming and going, but Harry liked it that way. In the mornings she would be at Bubbe's bakery, helping as much as she could. Normally far away from the stove as the last time she ventured near it, she had cremated all the new loaves and one of Harry's eyebrows had nearly been singed off. Well, it had been burnt off but luckily she had spelled it back before Bubbe noticed and she would have to go around waiting for the damn thing to grow back naturally. In that short time, Bubbe had grown on her like no one else had in a very long time. The woman was like the sun, blazing and warm and so full of life, laughter and love. Of course, she could turn into an absolute Inferi when pushed correctly.
Like the time Harry had let slip she had been out during the night, checking to make sure Bubbe was fine and safe after she had heard news a shop down at Singers hill had been robbed. Harry's ear was still red and ringing from when Bubbe had snapped up, with far too much speed for her supposed age, twisted the poor cartilage and dragged her over to a chair, pushing her into it, demanding Harry to promise she wouldn't do anything so foolish again, with a sound slap up the back of her head for good measure. Harry was no fool, she saw the underlying message crystal clear. Don't risk yourself for me, that was what Bubbe was trying to get her to agree too.
It was sort of frightening the way the homely old lady could turn from best grandmother to a raging goblin waving around Gryffindor's sword with a flip of a switch. Molly Weasley had nothing on Bubbe. And for some reason, some reason Harry could hardly form into words, be it her own lack of family throughout her short life or not having many people around her that actually cared for her, her safety, her and not the titles or things she could do for them, it made her smile and feel oddly at peace within herself in defiance of her poor abused ear.
After the bakery, around three, Bubbe would chase her out with a basket full of food and a flap of a dishcloth, telling her to get home and eat plenty, to stay safe and a quick hug for goodbye, Harry would head for the Garrison. Normally, Merope was cleaning down the tables or fetching drinks, Fenton behind the bar serving the rowdy customers. Fenton would smile and shout his hello, some of the patrons that knew her would raise their glasses in silent greetings.
Merope would flutter over to her and Fenton would tell Merope she could have the rest of the afternoon off, never mind he never actually gave Merope things to do, nor let her work passed three at any rate. The two women would go upstairs to their flat, looking cleaner, organized and more like a home with each passing day. They would peacefully eat, talk, bathe and then head to bed ready to repeat the cycle. Harry was proud of herself during that week, Merope's cheeks were beginning to fill out, the dark circles lessening each morning, her hair never greasy and limp any more. Of course, she had a lot more work to do before Merope reached healthy levels, but these were the first baby steps taken on a long journey.
Routines were comforting, like a safety blanket a child would cling to. It was easy, you knew what was happening, what to do, what to expect. It was a quiet life and Harry couldn't get enough of it. Merope, bless her, was slowly cracking more and more each day, and Harry wasn't naive, it wasn't just her efforts that brought this tough change around. No, she had Fenton to thank for that. The man was a natural chatterbox, something that worked well with Merope's own lack of talking skills at present. Plus, he was well and truly intuitive, seemingly knowing when someone was even beginning to become uncomfortable, backing off immediately with nothing but a smile and a glint in his eye. Fenton, luckily, was a good man.
However, Harry's precious and well-loved routine came crashing down on the eighth day. Fenton had told her two days ago he wouldn't be at the pub, having to go down to a shipping yard to sign off on a shipment of liquor that he had ordered to restock their dwindling supply. All was well and dandy until Fenton said he wasn't shutting down the pub for the evening, needing the business as times were tough and had shyly asked if Merope could join him in his mini adventure. Of course, Harry had smiled and said yes, she would hold down the fort while they were gone for the evening, telling Bubbe she wouldn't be in that day. Even going as far to see them off before re-locking the door until opening time reached the clock. Then She panicked.
She knew fuck all about how to manage a pub.
She had been in magical pubs, so she somewhat had a handle on the basics, but during her tizzy of induced frantic searching, she had seen no fire-whiskey on the shelving, no Stardust rum, no witches brew. Honestly, what was Guinness and how much did you charge for it? It looked like something you would use to clean, not consume... She didn't even want to begin to think what Brandy was, wasn't that a girls name? Shit. She was sure before Fenton and Merope got back that night, the pub would be nothing but cinders and ashes, Harry standing there, lost in the chaos, where it had once been, bashfully apologizing profusely for destroying Fenton's lively hood. She could tell him she tried, that had to count for something... Didn't it?
However, after reluctantly putting on a cream blouse and emerald skirt, thinking a dress would just cause unnecessary aggravation, ditching her shoes behind the bar, leaving herself barefoot apart from her stockings, Harry had taken a steadying breath and unlocked the gates of hell. It wasn't long before the pub was packed, apparently, a football game had been on at the local stadium, home team having won, pushing the fans to celebrate the good old fashioned way... By having a major piss up.
When the second hour struck since this nightmare had begun, Harry had sort of gotten the hang of it, if you counted her handing out the right drinks by this point as getting it right, apparently, as one laughing customer had pointed out, lager didn't go in wine glasses... And wine glasses were the bowl glasses with one long leg... But things were growing more and more hectic, and the more hectic it got, the more her temper's cage cracked. If one more man put a hand on something it didn't belong on, if she stubbed her toe one more time, if she had to listen to one more crude remark, if she spilled one more drink, she was just going to hex every person here, building included and leave. Done. Finite.
Something creaked loudly and from the corner of her eye, busying herself with pouring yet another pint out the large tap for another round, Harry saw the little corner window open, the little window that was really nothing more than a square porthole that lead to the closed off room Fenton had told her about, swung open. Barely she remembered something Fenton had told her, something about a friend who frequented there and used the room... She wasn't sure, she was already in a quiet panic by that point, nodding to everything despite not registering a word that Fenton said. So, Having forgotten what Fenton had told her about that little window, Harry treated whoever was there with the same attitude she had treated everyone with all night. Barely concealed aggravation and total lack of patience. She was a Gryffindor after all, they weren't exactly known for level heads or buckets of patience.
Just as the beginnings of a deep cough began to rattle out from the man, it had to be a man with how deep it was, Harry, not taking her hands or eyes away from pouring the drink, she had learned that lesson within the first five minutes, Harry filled the remainder of the glass, slammed it down on the bar, lager splashing up the side and spilling onto the bar, reached for another glass but before she pulled the tap back, held her finger out, pointing to the little window and spoke clearly, so there couldn't be any dispute on her meaning.
"You, wait your turn."
Only after having finished the six pint round did Harry finally brush her hands down her skirt and wandered over to the window, finally peeking through to see who had intervened in her slowly establishing groove, and froze. A man, a head taller than herself stood on the other side. His hair, as black as a raven's feather, was in the cut that many men sported around here in Small Heath, maybe a style for the time she was in but instead of looking severe, it blended well with his sharp and carven features. His features were proud, swooping and straight, almost aristocratic in nature, but with a bit of softness to the edges that held the natural haughtiness at bay. However, it was his eyes that caught you. Eye's like melting snowflakes, blue but so light, it was hard to tell. A perfect circle of winter sky dotted with a black moon.
He seemed to freeze too, both simply just looking, seizing the other up when Harry finally noticed the woman beside him. She was middle-aged, features very much in the same venue as the man, aristocratic but soft, eyes dark with rouged lips, hair a mop of curls clipped back, curls that nearly gave Harry's a run for their money if she let them free to do what they liked. She, the woman, was beginning to smile when Harry finally snapped back. She was tired, her feet ached, sans shoes might not have been the best course of plan, and her fraying nerves mistook his scrutiny and silence for derision. After all, it wouldn't be the first time she was looked down upon. So, just as the man's mouth opened to speak, hand's bracing on her hips, readying for a fight, Harry barked at the man over the roar of the crowd.
"What do you want?"
The man reared back an inch, mouth shutting, pronounced lips thinning just a smidgeon, eye's squinting, seemingly taking on an icy glow at her tone, from shock or anger, Harry couldn't tell. However, clipped his words might be, malice there was no hint of.
"Brandy. 1864."
1864? The year or was that how many ounces he wanted? Dear Merlin, she had a whole new level of respect for Fenton, she really did. Quickly scanning the shelves, Harry shrugged, reached up and plucked up a bottle, strolling the last few steps to the window, shoved the bottle through, nearly chuckling as he scrambled to grab it as it nearly crashed into his waistcoat covered chest, his perfect stoic façade down for those few seconds, for some reason making Harry feel a wave of accomplishment for unseating the man, nodded once and spoke.
"Leave the money on the ledge."
Then, without further ado, no hello's, goodbyes or pleasantries, Harry slammed the window shut, dusting her hands as she turned her back on it. She had only gotten four steps away when the sound of the window opening rang out, the man's voice picking up from behind her, causing Harry to tense.
"This... This is rum. I asked for Brandy."
Harry bit her tongue. They both knew he didn't ask for anything, no, he had demanded it. Not a please or thank you even on the horizon of possibility. Arrogant bastard. The worst? While his Birmingham accent was soft compared to some she had heard, she could still detect the teasing lilt to his words. He was purposely trying to wind her up. She was sure of it. Well, two could play at that game, hence why even though the bottles of Brandy was in clear view of the both of them, the man even pointedly looking at them on the middle shelf, Harry had given him Rum instead. What was the golden rule? Never piss off the service. Backing up, Harry simultaneously twirled on her heel to face the man, who was learning through the small window, smiling as sweetly as she could in that moment, grabbing a hold of the shutters.
"Sorry, all out of Brandy and manners it seems. Looks like rum's on the menu for you tonight. Now, if you please, I'm a bit rushed here so deal or find another pub."
Then, with one last twist of lips... She slammed the window shut on his face. That felt a lot more satisfying than she had thought it would. Wandering back to the tap and waiting crowd that was just beginning to thin, Harry listened as a man tipsily placed his order for him and his three friends, Harry began to slide back into things, plucking out three glasses from underneath and pouring from a green bottle of something called Gin. She jarred, slipped and spilled some when the window behind her, that damned fucking window, rattled open, that equally damned man's voice speaking up from behind her. That. Lilt. Still. Present. Harry nearly smashed the glass in her tight grip, nearly smashing the bottles behind her with a flare of barely suppressed magic. However, still staring in front of her, she missed the widening of the woman, who was by the man, eyes, the way she looked around herself as if looking for something before shaking it off.
"What's your name?"
Rolling her shoulders, Harry passed along the tumbler glasses, smiled, took the money and began walking back to the window... Once more. Although, this time she plucked up a little square piece of wood laying innocently under the bar, hanging off the ledge. Now, as she reached the window, it was Harry's turn to lean through the window and into the man's space, knuckles white as she held the shutter handles.
"Harry. Now kindly fuck off."
With a chuckle, Harry slammed the window home and for good and peace, slid the thick chunk of wood into the handles, jarring and locking the lock into place. Smiling proudly as she nearly hopped and skipped away. Let's see Mr. Tall and blue open it now, shall we? Only as she heard the window jingle and groan as it was tried to be opened did she finally let the laughter out, some drunks who looked about ready to doze off joining in when they knew nothing of why she was laughing, let alone stare in a straight line. Smiling to one man, a man she had only just noticed had been watching her the entire time, interaction with blue eyes included, hair cut severe, brown coat on, stubble on his cheeks but friendly smile in place, hold up his pint in what looked to be respect. She thought she remembered him telling her his name, something like Frank or Freddie. Either way, Harry politely nodded and then heavily sighed when some man began waving her down. Back to work it was then.
On the other side of the glass and wood, one Tommy Shelby pointedly looked between the bottle of rum in his hand and the locked window, a bit dazed by the whole encounter, though he would never admit it and his facial expression would never show it. Although, Aunt Polly was one of the only few that could peak beneath the cracks of his pale front, and unluckily, had witnessed the entire thing. With a warm hand on his bicep, Polly rasped out a chuckle, blowing out a puff of cigarette smoke on the exhale.
"I haven't seen someone make a Shelby speechless since your mother first met your father, pickpocketing him and then having the gall enough to blame him for getting caught red handed, let alone someone making you speechless. Now, this is a girl I like. Come on Tommy, we have business to discuss and I want that drink before we get into it."
~Later That Night~
Harry sighed deeply as she propped her foot up on the bar of a stall, tying up the laces of her boots with numb fingers. It was well passed midnight, Fenton and Merope still weren't anywhere in sight, but Fenton had told her it could be well into the early morning hours before they came through those doors. Still, anxiousness ate at Harry like termites would at bark. She felt like a mother, dithering at the front door waiting for her child to come home, a thousand and one horrid scenarios playing in her mind. Mugging, stabbings, gunfire, rogue wizards, everything and anything. But it needed to happen, Merope needed to see the world, with and without Harry. She needed more than one person to count on and Fenton... Fenton was a good man, maybe too good and Harry was sure he would look after Merope in her little adventure down at a shipyard.
Thankfully, she still had a few stragglers who were hanging around to keep her mind occupied and away from errant turns her imagination took, though even they were beginning to pack up and head home. Harry had her back turned, piling away bottles and glasses on the shelves, thoroughly distracted as the door to the offshoot room creaked open, two men slithering out into the main part of the pub, stiff goodbyes given as the shorter left and the other edged his way to the bar. Harry didn't know how long he was standing there for, still drying off glasses to put away before a cough forced her to turn around and face whoever was trying to gain her attention.
Blue eyes. Fantastic.
"Whiskey... Please."
Well, at least he had learned some manners. Sighing, Harry plucked out a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey, sliding it onto the table, popping the lid and began pouring. This was Fenton's pub and as much as she wanted to tell the man to fuck off again, she highly doubted Fenton would be glad to hear of how she treated his customers. The man didn't sit down at a stall or chair, simply delved a hand into his blazers inner pocket, pulled out a silver case and a lighter, flicked it open and pulled out a cigarette, sparks of orange and yellow painting his face momentarily in the dim light of the pub, taking a heavy drag before scanning Harry up and down... Again.
"I never did get your full name."
Fighting down the urge to tell him it was piss and off, Harry squared her shoulders, bottle of amber whiskey still tightly in her grasp. Normally Harry prided herself on her warm nature, a friendly face people could turn to in a crowd of hostiles, but something about this man just... Riled her up. And she wasn't even sure if that was the right description to label that bubbling feeling she felt in the bed of her stomach. Either way, it brought her Gryffindor temper flailing to the surface, roaring to be let out. So, it was with great restraint, a mental mantra of for Fenton, for Fenton, for Fenton swirling around her mind that she gently placed the bottle down on the bronze bar, crossed her arms and spoke. Granted, it was through gritted teeth and a none too welcoming tone.
"Harry. Harry Gaunt."
The man's eye's squinted for a moment, just a split-second twitch, but Harry had picked it up all the same. The man took another drag from his cigarette, leaning against the bar that separated them, flicking ash into the ashtray as his body turned partially away from her. That same feeling reared its head up at her as he spoke and she had to clench her fingers from going for her wand, safely strapped to her thigh and hidden, and blasting a Bombarda his way. She housed no disbelief that seeing the man with eyes too blue going sailing through the window wouldn't be at least a little satisfactory.
"Harry Gaunt you say? Well, tell me Harry, how did you get that nasty bruise on your cheek? Or that scrape on your knuckle?"
Harry's gaze flickered down to her hand, knuckles peaking through her blouse and crossed arms. Scraped knuckles from the punch she had thrown at that man's face back in the alleyway down near Singers Hill. The anger simmered down as a sinking feeling set in. She had a theory of just who and what this man was now. Snapping her gaze away from her knuckle and scanning the bar, feeling more stressed as she noticed Freddie was still at the bar, two seats down, eyeing them both up with speculative eyes, a few men in one of the booths, happily drinking between themselves.
Spells were out of the question then, not with so many witnesses, one could easily slip away during the confrontation. So, with a lack of many options and the glint starting to form in Blue eye's, the glint that looked similar to predators when they had finally cornered an injured deer, Harry decided to play dumb. Hopefully, Fenton would be back soon and she could slip away while everyone was distracted. Worst case scenario, she outed herself, packed hastily and got her and Merope out of dodge before it reached Magical authorities... Fuck. How did this day go downhill so fast?
"The same way many would I assume."
Strangely, the man gave a chuckle. A soft thing with shape edges, punctuated with a puff of smoke. Harry slid closer to the bar, unfolding her arms, hiding her legs as she accio'd her wand free, fingers clutching and unclenching around the polished wood, anchoring her down into the moment, blazing to life that urge of flight or fight. Unfortunately for her, and him too likely, Harry had always missed one component of that natural reaction... The run part. With another flick of that damned white stick, a smile creasing the edges of blue eyes mouth, he began to speak and Harry knew the jig was over.
"Funny that. I had a... Colleague come into my office today, sprouting on about a man who broke his nose. Nasty work it was, good hook this person had on them to do that. He said a man by the name of Harry Gaunt jumped him in the alleyway. Ironic how you have the same name, the injuries to match, yet not the gender I was expecting. So either he was lying or this is one big coincidence. I don't believe in coincidences, do you Harry?"
What had she done in her past lives to deserve this? In fact, shouldn't karma, luck, fate, whatever you wanted to call it be working on her side? Surely she had racked up enough points in that department to at least warrant a year or two of blissful and wonderfully boring peace? Yet she was a Potter and Merlin know's they never had the best end of the deal. Thumb stroking wand, Harry came clean bluntly.
"He stole from a seventy-year-old woman. Pushed her down in the street, kicked her and nabbed her handbag. A broken nose was the least he deserved."
Blue eye's head turned to the side slightly, like a puppy did when it found something interesting, though Harry knew equating Blue eyes to a puppy was not a good idea. Muggle he may be, but armed he likely was and even though Harry had the backing of magic if things went even more south, she wasn't particularly fond of finding out which moved faster, spell or bullet. Blue eyes dashed out his cigarette and pushed his blazer back a little, hands digging into trouser pockets, waistcoat now in view. Harry didn't miss the flash of leather at the side of his ribs. A holster.
"Ah, a neighbourhood hero then?"
Harry scoffed and couldn't help her own sardonic smile that took up home on her face. Harry didn't know what game he was playing but she sure knew she wanted no part on its board. Plus, Harry was never known for the softer approach, she was too temperamental and headstrong for it. In fact, it was actually usually what led her into these situations in the first place. She didn't know whether she had her mother, father or the war she had miraculously lived through to thank for that part of her personality. Likely a mixture of all three in hindsight.
"No. Just someone who won't put up with other peoples shit. Including yours. What is it you're getting at?"
Blue eyes gave a soft nod as his smile disintegrated, idly picking up his tumbler to drink from as his eyes drifted over to one of the windows on the opposite end of the pub... Completely looking the opposite way from Harry, a sure sign he thought she was no threat. Harry wanted to laugh, if only he knew. She didn't know which was worse, or angered her more, his frostily bright, alert eyes or the bastards ego. Maybe it was once again all of the above.
"Just a curious customer is all."
In his new stance, still leaning against the bar on his elbow and looking out the window, his blazer pushed further back and a piece of fabric that had been hidden in his waistcoat pocket until this point peeked its hello to the world. A hat. A flat cap. Her theory was right on the point then. He was one of them then, the one the man in the alley had cried about, reminding her of Draco when he would run and scream that his father would hear about this. By his dismissal of what the man had done to Bubbe, he wasn't blind to the goings on. Harry's temper snapped. She had been dealing with people like him for nearly all her life. She had had enough.
"Oh, I see. You're the big bad boss he cried about. What, here to gauge my eyes out are you? For daring to do the right thing? What was it he called himself and you... Oh, Peaky Blinders. Doesn't sound much like a business, more like a gang really. A group of overgrown thugs."
Blue eyes head snapped around, surely twinging in the pressure of the fast act and locked eyes with Harry's head on. Harry didn't waver, didn't shrink, didn't blink, instead, she too hit him head on with her own vivid eyes, scowling. Blue vs green. Like an Aurora Borealis clashing against ice and snow, shards and light blending together, fighting. Finally, Blue eyes gruff voice shattered the glass case of tension around them, only to reconstruct it in lightening speed, fortifying it with words that stung and cut deep, despite them coming from a relative stranger.
"If you count the right thing as chasing down men twice your size, getting into fist fights and getting involved in things that you have no business getting involved in as right choices, I would hate to see your bad ones."
Harry had verbally battled with the best of them, Severus Snape being the primary one. Still, even on the ends of his vicious tongue-lashings that could cut as deep as any real knife or dagger, wound you worse than a heavy beating, it hadn't had boiled her blood as much as Blue eyes did. She honestly didn't know what it was about the man, he just... Erked her. Harry's responding remark was just as chilly and biting as his had been.
"And standing by while an old lady is mugged and shoved to the ground, working with men like that, well, I too would hate to see your bad choices. I've seen men like you, whether you wear bloody hats or masks and tattoos, you're all the same."
By the clenching of his jaw and the tick in his swooping cheek, she had the same effect on him. His glass clinked harshly against the bar as he turned to face Harry fully, hands bracing on the edge as he rounded on her, his tone mocking and lilting... Harry wanted to rip his tongue straight out of his mouth.
"Well, you're in luck then. There are no men like me Red."
Harry's retort was already out before his had fully finished, her hand so tight around her wand now she was idly worried she would snap the wood in two.
"Thank the heavens and choirs then. Small mercy's and all that."
That fizzling static of tension was so thick now, Harry was sure you would have to swim to move at all in the room. Harry thought she could hear the faint ticking of a clock, pounding at the base of her skull, counting down to when either she or he would finally and irreversibly break and the floodgates would open. A hand shot into her tunnelled vision, locked on Blue eyes and the two jarred out of the little... Rage, Harry thought it was rage, it was potent and hot either way, bubble as Freddie materialized out of nowhere, hand resting on Blue eyes shoulder. Freddie was smiling, tone easy but it would take a blind person to miss the forced-ness of it all, the strain to his cheeks and eyes, the placating tone to his voice.
"Tommy, she's new. She doesn't understand-"
Harry didn't let Freddie finish. She couldn't.
"Oh, I understand perfectly well. If this is a threat, it isn't working."
Blue eyes who she knew now was called Tommy, pulled back, hands coming out of his pockets as he fixed his blazer, re-doing the buttons deftly, eyes still zeroed in on her. Freddie sighed and his hand flopped to his side, neither she nor Tommy paid the man much attention.
"It's not a threat Miss Gaunt, it's a warning. One day you'll pick a fight with the wrong person and a bruise and scrape aren't all you're going to come away with. You're lucky it was me that found you and not Fredrick. Small Heath isn't a place for women like you. If I was you, I would leave on the next train. Pretty roses don't grow around here for good reason."
Harry's magic flared out in unrestrained anger, the tumbler on the bar shattering to glitter. Tommy and Freddie's eyes both snapped to the now dusted glass, eyebrows high, though they weren't distracted for long. Harry used the chance to slide her wand back, take a deep breath and brace herself against the bar, leaning over slightly to drive her point home, accent hard and hissed, as if she was seconds from reverting to speaking parseltongue at the man in front of her.
"Well, you know what they say, you can't have roses without thorns and where there are thorns, there are roses. My thorns are bloody sharp Mr. Shelby. Remember that, and if you need a reminder, look at your colleague's face."
Their eyes clashed again, even Freddie, who had willingly intervened before froze and grew silent at the smothering atmosphere. Then a jingle rang out, the sound of footsteps, two pairs, creaked the floor boards in the deathly quiet pub and a welcoming voice rang out, growing more and more uneased at what greeted him.
"Sorry for taking so long Harry, I hope it wasn't too busy... Mr. Shelby... Is everything fine?"
Harry felt a small wave of victory crash over her as it was Tommy who backed down, breaking contact to straighten himself out. He took one last look at Harry before pulling out a note from his pocket, throwing it onto the bar and turning to Fenton, never once looking back at Harry even though he addressed her.
"Yes Fenton, I was just on my way out now. Have a good evening Misses Gaunt and remember what I said."
Tommy strolled past a weary looking Fenton and a hunched over Merope who was staring adamantly at a spot on the floor, nodding as he passed through the doorway. As the door opened and a slight breeze entered the pub, Harry really couldn't hold her tongue in place, nor the rather petty and childish shouted insult she threw Tommy's way before the door shut with a resounding bang, the only hint that he had heard her and he was not in the best of moods. Good. If he wanted to crash her own mood, she would drag his down too.
"Only if you remember what I said!... Arrogant Toe-rag!"
Fenton let out a muted gasp and harsh wince at Harry's shout and the bang of the door. The pub settled into silence before the three men in the booth unfroze and dropped their money onto the table, all seemingly in a rush to get out of there as fast as they could and really, Harry couldn't blame them when Fenton, good natured, soft speaking, friendly Fenton turned on her, eye's the size of tea cup saucers.
"Harry! Don't speak to him like that! Jesus girl, what has gotten into your head? Did you not listen to me earlier? You do not argue, antagonize or prod a Shelby-"
Harry bit back asking Fenton how the hell she was supposed to be able to tell who a Shelby was from anybody else, or why it mattered to do so in the first place when a full laugh rang out. Fenton, Harry, and even Merope slowly turned to the last Patron, Freddie as his laugh died down, clapping Fenton on the back as he and Merope came closer to the bar.
"Ease up Fenton, no harm no foul. I thought you were bloody brilliant Harry. Cheers to you!"
Harry, feeling the tension well and truly gone now, like Tommy had taken it with him in a cloud of fog, chuckled as Freddie downed the last of his larger, slipping the glass onto the bar along with some change.
"Well, that's enough entertainment for me for one night. Let me know when Harry's in the pub again Fenton, she's a real firecracker that one and good entertainment is so hard to come by around here. Goodnight all."
Merope and Fenton politely nodded their goodbyes, Merope's a little late telling Harry she was only doing so because she saw Fenton do it and took it as a cue. Which was good, it meant she was slowly picking up on the silent cues now instead of ignoring them completely. Harry, instead, chose to warmly wave and shout her goodbye to the man that was heading home. After that whole fiasco, Harry could see herself coming to like Freddie.
"Goodnight Freddie!"
Freddie gave a single wave over his shoulder and left in a swoop of murky brown coat, leaving the three alone in the pub. Harry was feeling more at ease since she had been left alone in that pub since early afternoon, only for Fenton to make a mad dash for her, rounding around the bar and skidding to a stop in front of Harry, cheeks red and eyes frantic. The shock of seeing easy-going Fenton in such a state stalled her.
"Harry please, for my own sake of mind, don't do this again. Mr. Shelby... The Shelby's... They get what they want, do what they want, say what they want, have who and what they want and no one will do anything. No one can do anything. These are not the people you are used to, you shouldn't get involved. Please-"
Harry huffed and frowned up at Fenton, large eyes blinking un-amusedly as she cut off his scrambled rant. She had heard the same spiel before, had seen it in action when the Death-eaters had taken over the ministry, like Merlin would she live through that complete bullshit again. Of course, she highly doubted these... Peaky Blinders were anything remotely like Death-eaters, but they seemed to live by the same quid-pro-quo, I want so I take. Harry, in truth, was just sick of seeing the same thing over and over again, repeat after repeat, even eighty years into the past. Maybe...
No. She had never run before, and if Voldemort, the epitome of all things wrong in humanity couldn't get her to run these merlin-damned peaky fuckers wouldn't either. She was here for Merope and Merope liked it here, loved it here, she wouldn't allow some man with too blue of eyes to run them off over a little disagreement, a broken nose and some tempered words.
"Well, maybe it's time someone stood up and said no-"
Fenton snatched her by the shoulders, tugging her closer, leaning down so he was eye to eye with the short woman. Once again, Fenton, unassuming Fenton with his mossy eyes took all wind from her sails with his soft but demanding words.
"Please, Harry. I've only known you a short time, but I honestly like you. Promise me you won't look, talk or argue with that man again. You don't know what he's capable off. I ... I worry for you. Promise me."
Harry had to tell herself and her Gryffindor pride she wasn't running away she was just simply... Avoiding unnecessary confrontation by agreeing to Fenton's promise. Still, it was bitter to her taste buds and smelled regrettably like almonds... Arsenic. Harry's word was sacred to her, her most prized possession in fact, after all, what did you have if you didn't have your word? Nothing. But, as her eyes drifted over to Merope, the sole reason she was here in the first place, the one thing she should be focusing on instead of arrogant men who set her blood aflame, Harry broke.
Merope was looking at her with her one good eye, lips thin in worry, hands clenching and unclenching in front of her chest, her shawl skewed on her shoulders, threatening to fall, fear and apprehension seizing her whole being, Harry felt ashamed she had been so caught up in what was now looking like her own blown temper getting the better of her. Fenton's hands fell away from her shoulders, Harry's eyes fell to the ground and her shoulders slumped as she spoke on a hushed wind, curls bouncing as she nodded.
"I promise... He's still an arrogant bastard though."
The joke at the end had the desired effect of throwing out all the vile pressure in the room as Fenton chuckled and even Merope gave a squeak of laughter. Then Harry tensed as a thick arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug before letting her go when Fenton felt how stiff she was. When was the last time anyone had hugged her?... Too long to remember anything but a slight haze of warmth and Molly's brilliantly brown eyes. It felt... Nice. Really nice.
Merope wasn't the only damaged person in the building, but hopefully, Harry prayed, while Merope piece herself together with Harry's help, maybe, just maybe, Merope could help Harry do the same to her own life. Here, in this pub eighty years in the past, standing with people who should have been long dead, people Harry should have never met, she felt hope. Strong, a star shining hope that just this once she could have the one thing she always dreamed about.
Family.
"As long as you don't tell him that... Again, it's fine. Now sit down, I'll cook us up something to eat and we can relax for a bit. I bet you're knackered."
Harry smiled up at Fenton, bright and true, as she nodded, Fenton heading towards the back room where he slept, likely gathering up a quick meal of sandwiches and tea. Merope was the first to sit down at one of the booths, a clean one thankfully as Harry followed, sliding in the opposite, leaving the empty space next to Merope for Fenton. On her short little journey into time, Harry had found out she had one little skill she had not known she possessed. She was quiet a damn good match-maker. So, sliding back into the routine she loved so much, adored really, Harry leaned onto the table with her elbows, one eyebrow arched as she grinned cheekily, whispering to Merope as she heard clunks and bangs from Fenton in his kitchen filter through the thin walls. Adamantly pushing away all thoughts of Blue eyes, arguments or pumping blood ringing in her ears to the back of her mind.
"So, tell me about your night."
Merope's face lit up in a wonderful shade of pink and red, stuttering back full force as she began to regale Harry about her trip down to something the muggles called a shipping yard, where they housed great beasts of metal that miraculously floated on water despite the lack of magic. It wasn't all that soon before Harry was swept all up in the story, nodding, smiling and laughing in the right places, none the wiser that many, many years ago, or in the future depending on your perspective, a confrontation like hers had taken place.
Lily and James Potter had been first years on the train to the legendary school Hogwarts they would be attending for the next seven years. Sirius and James had become quick friends, having known each other before their first year from family gatherings, James's mother being a Black, when Sirius had picked a fight with one Severus Snape while the two were split, trying to find a free compartment.
The problem was Severus hadn't been alone, his own childhood friend sitting with him, a girl called Lily Evans. Just like Harry, having grown up around muggles, when angered, Lily fell back on what she knew best. In short, it ended up with Sirius sporting a broken nose from a well-aimed punch and a promise of revenge from the unhampered and boisterous lad. To calm his angry and volatile friend, James had hunted down the first year muggle-born with a warning to back off, only in very Potter fashion, didn't word it correctly and came off threatening and arrogant. The two hot-tempered individuals had blown up at each other, ending very much the same way as Harry's own confrontation had, Lily shouting at the retreating James Potter... Calling him an Arrogant toe-rag.
When Charlus Potter met Dorea Black, Harry's grandparents, it ended with Dorea taking off one of her expensive heeled shoes in the middle of her family's ball and lobbing it at Charlus's head. When Hardwin met Lolanthe Peverell, Harry's seventh times grandparents, Hardwin had come away with a red hand print emblazoned on his cheek and a prominent scowl on his handsome face. When Fleamont Potter met his Euphemia, Harry's great grandparents, he couldn't exactly walk or storm away, huffing for breath and holding a deep fear from the force of her kick he would never sire any children.
History, whether past, present, future, was in the habit of repeating itself. It was like that uncle at the Christmas party, the one who kept telling the same joke over and over again because he found it hilarious while the rest of the room gave polite smiles and giggles just to hush the man up. Harry, unfortunately, was not immune from this phenomenon and had just fallen into a loop many of her ancestors had.
It was going to be a very, very bumpy ride.
NEXT CHAPTER: More Bubbe, A certain sister turns up and someone arrives in Birmingham on 'family business'...
A.N: Well there's chapter three and at a whopping 10k word count, If you guys want smaller chapters, please let me know, I'll be the first person to hold my hands up and admit I get carried away most of the time. I hope you all enjoyed it and it lived up to what you wanted. Sorry, this came out a bit late, Tommy's character was hard to pin down and even now I'm still not a hundred percent happy with how he turned out in this chapter. Although I'm hoping I'll get better at writing him the longer I keep at it.
As for when Alfie turns up, I'm afraid to say it isn't for quite a while yet. But not to worry Alfie fans, he does come into it eventually, it'll just take a little longer as I have an idea about how and when it happen's, it's just believably getting to that point that'll take up some time.
I know there wasn't much Merope this chapter, but primarily, this fic centers on Harry, though heavily featuring Merope. So while she is definitely not a foreground character, she is neither leading actress so to speak. Thank you to all those who liked my version of Merope, you don't understand how worried I was about involving her or what people thought with how and where I was taking her character.
As for voting for Pairing I can give out the results, which are:
Tommy/Harry-6
Alfie/Harry-3
Alfie/Harry/Tommy-7
So, Alfie/Harry/Tommy wins. However, I will most likely end this fic with a singular pairing, as one reviewer pointed out, realistically, a threesome just wouldn't fit. That end pairing, however, is going to be a surprise. To elaborate a little more, it won't be a full-on Alfie/Harry/Tommy more of a Harry/Alfie and Tommy/Harry... If that makes any sense at all. Still, I would love to hear your thoughts.
A HUGE THANK YOU to all those who reviewed, you guys are why I keep writing and posting this fic. Thank you to all those who followed and favourited, I hope I'm at least keeping you a little bit entertained and you are looking forward to the next chapter.
Please leave a review, they get my fingers typing faster. Until next time, stay beautiful- AlwaysEatTheRude21