Work Text:
One million bells is the current bid.
Tom allows the corner of his lips to curve a fraction upwards before picking up his cloth and turning back to his work.
It is Monday morning and the store is dead, not a villager in sight even if peering through the window. All Tom has to accompany him is the dulcet tones of K.K. Slider that his darling enjoys so much. While Tom can admit that the dog's music is not so bad, it is the owner of the establishment where Slider plays whose company Tom cannot abide. Albus Shrunk.
A sneer graces his lips as he tosses the venus-comb shell into one of the small pile he has already finished cleaning. As the later half of the week promises to be much busier, Tom is taking the time now to clear up space in the shop in preparation for the big event. Unfortunately, this means dealing with the one item that brings him the most pain: seashells. Three buckets of them are at his feet, one being nearly half empty.
Tom picks up a sea-snail shell and has to repress a sigh. The problem with seashells is that they can only be resold in bulk, and beach-combing villagers wanting to make a quick bell bring in, at most, a few handfuls of them at a time. Once they are sorted into type, of which there are ten, the shells are lucky to weigh one hundred grams (this of course excluding the giant-clam shells). The collective citizens of Hogwarts manage to bring in around one and a half kilograms of shells a year, and while Tom has persuaded his bulk-buyers to take his shells at an inflated price, the profit margin is hardly worth the effort. Every bell counts is Harry's refrain, and Tom readily agrees even when sand gets embedded in his nails, and his dried hands smell like sea-salt for the next few hours. So they continue buying the shells brought in by customers, and Tom tells visitors from other towns that Re-Tail is the recycling shop that opened its door with the intent of giving customers a chance to create a real home for themselves. This is what Harry champions; his friend Hermione adds that it promotes community spirit, giving Hogwarts a reputation of being a welcoming and environmentally-conscious town. What predictable claptrap from the town's own secretary.
As Tom pulls out a bit of seaweed stuck in the shell, he glances at the new stock he has displayed in the shop: a cow skull and a modern wood chair. The chair will sell easily enough, but the cow skull will take some persuading. A quirky item, Tom thinks to say to a customer, great as a conversation piece and takes up hardly any space. This is a must-have for your home . . .
Yes, that will be an acceptable pitch, Tom mentally replies to himself as he gives the shell a final polish and throws it onto another small mound of shells that he has created.
Bending down to scoop another handful of shells to clean, Tom eyes the nearby cardboard box under the counter. It is full of neatly compacted globes, the form items take when they are put in storage. The green leaf indicates that they are furniture, and the leaf turns red if Harry decides to reupholster them. These stored items are not ready for sale yet as they need to be valuated and polished, and refurbished by Harry if he deems them worthy. In any case, the shop displays are currently full up with items, mainly from citizens hoping to win new furniture this Saturday.
Stock has moved quickly this season, largely due to Harry's creative solution to their low profit-turning shell trade. It had occurred three months ago, and Tom easily recalls the way their sweat ridden hair had stuck to their faces after an intense night of dancing at Club LOL.
It had been a relief to leave the crowded and stuffy venue, to feel the fresh air of the outside. That had still been the case even though it had been mid-summer and hot enough for the both of them to go without their customary thick, woollen jumpers. Both of them had rolled their sleeves back and unbuttoned their shirts, which revealed the white cotton shirts they were wearing underneath.
They had been making their way back home, walking over a fairy-tale bridge that had recently been built. Tom had a secure arm around Harry whose eyes were closed, and the steps they took back home were punctured ever so often by Harry kicking his feet out lackadaisically.
"K.K. Slider's songs really get the heart pumping," Harry had commented.
As they turned the corner and Harry swayed with the movement, he had continued rather wistfully, "If only he had some songs that could help me get to sleep."
"You have become quite the night-owl, Harry," Tom had said, feeling his pockets with his free hand.
Their house had loomed into view, and Tom had taken a quick look at their new fourth room before shepherding Harry to their doorway. They had stood there for a moment, Tom still trying to find his keys as he had loathed to disrupt his position of holding Harry. His darling had started gently moving his head to whatever tune was stuck in there by the time Tom had turned the key and pushed the door open.
"Come, my darling. I will make you a nice bowl of grass jelly."
Harry had given a hum of approval and let Tom guide him through their home.
Tom had not thought anything would come of that late-night conversation, except that it was nearly Harry's birthday, and so he had resolved to find Harry the slowest and most soothing K.K. Slider songs he could think of. Stale Cupcakes and K.K. Lullaby came to mind, but the former song was hard to find. It seemed he would simply have to persuade whichever Nook he found first to let him look at all the music they had in their store, and if that failed he would turn to one of his contacts.
So it had come as a surprise to Tom when the next day Harry, possessed with a manic energy, had rummaged through the buckets of shells for a giant-clam shell. He remembered watching in fascination as Harry sat down at his workstation in their shop and began what looked like a new project. Tom admired the strength in Harry's hands, the precision of his actions, and the look of pure concentration on his face as he engaged in his craft. It was what made Harry's work so unique and of such high quality. That determination and meticulous calculation was also what led to being Harry such an excellent bug-catcher.
His darling had spent the whole day on the shell: carefully cutting it in half, cleaning all the residue off it, buffing the surface, wearing down the sharp edges and finally taking its measurements. It had taken some talking to get Harry out of the shop and come home for dinner, and he had not been there when Tom woke up the next morning. Tom suspected Harry had not slept at all, leaving soon after he had fallen asleep.
Harry had made his reappearance sometime in the afternoon, right when Tom was seeing Ron out. He had given a quick "hey" to Ron before heading over to his workstation, face gleeful, and fist clenched with a compacted globe bearing an image of a leaf.
"What have you got there, darling?"
A grin was all Tom received in response.
The mayor had appeared in the shop with many an item to sell and display, so Tom's attention had been drawn away from Harry. When the transaction had been completed, Tom edged his way over to Harry's workstation. He had watched in silence as those agile fingers gilded the edges of a barely recognisable giant-clam shell encrusted with gems. When that was completed, Harry had given the item a polish and looked up at Tom.
"Here."
Tom had taken the shell from Harry's open palm, turning it carefully in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. When Harry saw Tom's eyes meet the hinge at the back of the shell, he had grinned and said, "Open it."
Turning it back round, Tom had gently pried the clam shell open and was met with the booming tune of K.K Moody, now converted to a soft, tinkling sound.
"A music box," Tom had said quietly as he watched the plucking of the tuned teeth. Staring directly into Harry's eyes, Tom said with all sincerity, "You are marvellous, Harry."
Harry's smile had been radiant.
After Harry had filled their house with a dozen of his music boxes, Tom's favourite being the one with gems clustered to form a snake, they had introduced the music boxes to Re-Tail. They were a roaring success. Now the ingenuity of Harry's music boxes pulls in customers from far away towns, and the show of Harry's exquisite craftsmanship has villagers more eager to customise their own furniture. Business at Re-Tail is booming.
The only downside to Harry's music boxes is that it puts him into much closer contact with the owner of Club LOL.
Albus Shrunk irks him.
Shrunk had been in their town for nearly two years now. He had first appeared at Hogwarts wearing a white shirt with a dark plum vest and matching pants. Tom recognised him on sight because Doctor Shrunk is a renowned psychologist, speaking of the beauty of love and helping animals in expressing their emotions better. All Shrunk asks in payment for his services is some sort of food, preferably fruit or sweets. Harry thinks this is selfless and admirable, while Tom thinks it is foolish and a pathetic business plan. But as Shrunk's reputation, even today, still attracts tourists from all over the world, and thus brings more business to Hogwarts, Tom cannot complain too much.
In the early days of Shrunk's arrival, when Club LOL was still getting off its feet, they had attended Shrunk's self-styled comedic performance. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! left many a patron scratching their head and wondering about the state of Shrunk's mind. Harry had enjoyed the act, but Tom personally thought that the only laughable aspect of the performance was Shrunk's choice of attire. His onstage outfit was a yellow suit with red polka-dots.
Let him do what he wants, Tom had thought to himself at the time, as long as he does not interfere with our lives.
Tom can admit that Shrunk, or Albus as Harry calls him, is a genius, although he would rather clean ten dozen buckets of shells before admitting that to Shrunk himself. His club is a huge success, and patrons love his odd collection of gyroids that look like they are dancing to the music. Being able to hire K.K. Slider attracts even more attention, and Tom can admit to Shrunk that he enjoys his visits with Harry to the venue. It is because of the way that Harry throws back his head as he laughs at a joke; the fluidity of his movements as they dance together and the heat radiates off their bodies; the brightness of Harry's eyes as they have a drink to catch their breath; and the peacefulness on Harry's face as they sit together listening to K.K. Slider's acoustic performances on Saturday; these moments are what makes Tom feel more content than a cat with a lazy personality. Yes, it is these moments that completely drive Tom's thoughts away from Shrunk's twinkling, but vigilant, eyes, and onto his darling Harry. And when he and Harry stay behind for closing time or off-stage conversations with Shrunk, it is these memories that keep him civil and able to resist sneering at Shrunk.
Tom knows it is only polite to drop by Club LOL more often, since their deal with Slider to use and remix his songs for their music boxes is bringing financial success to everyone involved.
Later, Tom thinks, maybe I'll take some fruit with me as well.
Tom turns to a cowrie shell. He is quite tentative about the shell necklaces that Harry is now making, but it brings joy to Harry's face so he doesn't put up too much of a fight.
As K.K. Marathon turns to K.K. Jongara, Tom finishes the first bucket of shells. He is in the process of washing the bucket when the doorbell chimes. Tom does not look up from his work, but can tell by the scuff of sneakers who is there. He had not expected her back so soon.
He finds her examining the cow skull, and wonders if he can pawn the item off on her, or if her sensibilities as a zoologist would take offense.
"You're an alpaca," Luna had said the first time she had been in the shop, her big eyes widening even more.
"Yes," Tom had replied politely. "Welcome to Re-Tail, our recycling shop where we buy and sell items and furniture, allowing you to find the perfect items to make your home your sanctuary. We will also pay a premium for any high-valued items listed on the board in front of the shop. How may I assist you?"
Her eyes had drank him in and he stared levelly back. This went on for some time. Finally, she had broken eye contact only for her gaze to land on Harry's sleeping form. At the bulge of her eyes, Tom had supposed that the colour variation of Harry's blue hair interested her.
Tom had heard himself saying, "My darling is very tired, so don't wake him."
"Oh don't worry," she had said airily, "I find others most fascinating in their natural state."
Tom would not have mentioned her to Harry, but he had been excited to know who had bought his refurbished pastel kiddie dresser. They had ended up visiting Luna at the town's campsite. The game of Guess What I Ate had turned to the actual toasting of marshmallows while they listened to stories of her research and travels. Sometimes Luna travelled alone, like now, other times she went with her companions who also conducted research. When Luna had mentioned she knew Charlie, Harry chipped in excitedly, telling her about Ron, and the conversation eventually trailed off with everyone wondering whether Charlie had met a dragon yet. Tom had not failed to notice that through all of these stories, Harry's ears had perked up. They had always wanted to go travelling, but had prioritised putting all of their spare bells into expanding and renovating their home.
"Good morning, Luna," Tom says as he comes to stand next to her.
"This town's very quiet in the morning, but I find the morning air helps me think."
"The smell from the perfect cherries orchard is particularly sumptuous," Tom says and watches as she picks up the cow skull. There is a moment of silence as Tom lets her admire the item.
"I sense that the fish sense what is to come," she says. "I was dipping my toes in the river earlier this morning and they barely nibbled at all."
Tom nods at this, observing her bring the skull closer to her eyes. "Then I take it that you will be staying for the tourney?"
Luna replies with her own nod. "I've heard the host is a beaver."
"Yes, quite the fish enthusiast. I am sure you two would get along."
Luna pokes her finger through the eye socket. "This skull is very curious."
"A cow's skull. It makes an excellent conversation piece and gives a room that finishing touch."
"Hmmm . . ." Luna runs her fingers down the flat of the snout. "Are you sure it's a cow?"
Tom blinks. But as he opens his mouth, Luna says, "I'll take it."
Tom resists a satisfied smile. He barely even said anything.
They head over to the counter, Luna still examining the details of the skull.
"Do you want the item in compacted form?" Tom asks, taking the item from her.
"And gift-wrapped, please. I'm sending it home to my Daddy."
Flashing her a smile, Tom shrinks the skull into its globe form, and takes out the yellow wrapping paper and red ribbon from the counter drawer. Once Tom is done wrapping the skull, she hands over the sack of bells.
"I will inform Harry of your plans to stay," Tom says as he counts the bells. "He will be pleased."
Luna gives a hum of agreement which turns into a gasp.
Tom follows her gaze and forces his face to stay blank when it lands on what she has seen. So there is a market for these necklaces, he thinks to himself.
Luna walks over to Harry's workstation for a closer look at the shells.
"How pretty!" she exclaims.
"Yes," Tom agrees. "Harry always puts all his heart into his craft."
Luna bends over and her nose almost touches the shells that Harry has been buffing, painting, and even experimenting with crushed ores with. They all have a metallic sheen to them, and Tom can imagine decorating their sea bass' tank together with these shells.
"Is this Harry's newest creation? How long has he been working on them? What will he do with them? Is that why you're cleaning these shells?" She asks all of this in a fevered rush, eyeing the shells in delight.
Tom reflects a little sorely that Harry will most certainly offer a seashell necklace to Luna as a token of friendship instead of charging her a commission. It cannot be helped though, since this is Harry's craft and not his. So he replies, "Harry has indeed been exercising his craft for the past month when he has found the time. I believe he has been thinking of making necklaces out of the shells. As for the cleaning, it has always been my task to clean the shells that our customers sell to us."
"Necklaces," Luna repeats with a look of wonder.
Tom eyes the sparkly radishes adorning her ears before saying, "Perhaps you should ask him yourself about them."
Luna stares at him with her wide eyes, and then nods rapidly. "Yes, you're right. I think I saw him on the beach. I'll go talk to him now."
Wondering if Harry is indeed awake, Tom gives a single nod and reminds her about her present.
"Oh, yes."
Present in hand, Luna is out the door with a small squeak on the floor and tinkling of the doorbell.
As Tom resumes his shell-cleaning, he takes a look at his laptop and gives a satisfied smile. The current bid is two and a half million bells.
It is another hour of various songs from K.K. Slider's entire catalogue before another customer arrives, or rather, waves at him to come outside. Harry is not here, so Tom has to deal with the dog he finds almost as aggravating as Shrunk.
We're all pink, Tom muses as he steps outside and the scent of cherries hits his nose, perhaps Harry is drawn to that colour.
"You all on your lonesome?" Sirius Black asks, his leather-gloved hands pulling off his helmet to reveal bright pink hair that is far darker and more fluorescent than Tom's own pink hair.
Tom gives him a look, and Black laughs.
"You have your own business to run," Tom says while taking in the current state of Black's motorbike.
"Hey, it's a quiet day and I'm allowed to take a lunch break. Spending all day around around hair-dye fumes isn't good for you."
Tom merely stares at Black who gives another laugh.
"Well you know," Black begins earnestly, "Harry's been helping me with the engine. The adjustments he's made has really helped. Let him know it's running faster than it ever has and the over-heating isn't a problem anymore."
"I will."
"Wouldn't mind another coat of paint either," Black says, contemplating his motorbike. "What do you think of red?"
Tom stares at the black motorbike. "Ostentatious, but it suits you."
Black smiles. "Sure you don't want to test out what magic Harry's worked on this baby?"
"Quite."
"Fair enough," Black appraises him for a moment. "How about a a new look for you? You'd look good with black hair."
The stare Tom gives Black is flat. "No, thank you. I have not forgotten what happened the last time I set foot in your salon."
Black's smile is all teeth.
Tom had wanted a simple trim, but had somehow ended up with acid green hair, a pancake of white face paint, bright red clown lips, severe black eyebrows, and racoon eyes that the Nooks would be proud of.
"Why so Sirius, Tom?" the blasted dog has asked when Tom had been spun around to face the mirror.
Harry and Black had laughed themselves to death, clutching their sides while Tom stared blankly at his reflection.
Harry enjoys his company, Tom had to tell himself as he quelled his murderous intentions, he's practically Harry's father . . . Well, surely Harry wouldn't notice a single missing pitfall seed, would he . . . .?
His hair had been returned to its normal light pink by Black's machine, but Tom's goodwill could not be restored so easily.
Tom watches as Black hops onto his motorbike, adjusts his helmet and roars off back to Main Street.
Almost letting out a sigh, Tom slowly returns to the shells on the counter. It has been a quiet day and he knows why. Many villagers are in a frenzy to catch fish for Saturday's tourney, both for the regular furniture prizes, and the trophy if you place; but mostly for the rare fish furniture set pieces that Chip offers each time you break the current record. Tom knows Harry has his heart set on the dab table from that set, but Chip gives out his prizes at random. Well, if Harry doesn't win the table, Tom knows he can offer up to Chip all the excess fish that citizens sell to Re-Tail once the tourney is over. Citizens, tourists, special visitors, mayors, their minds are all malleable.
Exclusive and rare furniture is Tom's specialty. The valuation price of items from sets like ice, zodiac, flower, and cabana can reach over one hundred thousand bells a piece. Even better are completed sets that can sell for millions due to the convenience of prospective buyers not having to track the items down themselves. One simply has to know where to sell to make such extravagant profits.
And so the first time Harry had managed to convince him to visit Ron's place with him, Tom's eyes had widened when they were invited inside. The house was decorated with what seemed like most of the sloppy set. Ron could not have paid more than three thousand bells for all his furniture, unless he had been swindled, although Tom was certain he had bought the items at their original low prices. For some odd reason, the sloppy set's lived-in aesthetic, unkempt and disgusting in Tom's opinion, had started appealing to the wealthy mayors and villagers throughout all the nearby towns. The sudden trend had driven their prices up more than ten-fold. This likely meant that neither Harry or Ron realised the true value of these items . . . For the duration of their visit, Tom had to keep his face impassive and avoid Harry's eyes, for his darling was good at reading his body language even when his face was blank.
The sloppy couch Tom had gingerly sat down on while Harry and Ron made dinner was soft and squashy enough. Tom, however, would never want to pay tens of thousands of bells for it. The sloppy table was better and he had been glad to move to it once Ron announced dinner was ready. They had made spaghetti which Tom did not eat with much enthusiasm, but Harry and Ron wolfed down. As they ate, he had turned the conversation to talk of his and Harry's recent home expansion and what furniture would be suitable for a library. Ron, it seemed, liked orange items, and held a deep love for his sloppy stereo which was the first item he had owned that had not previously belonged to someone else. Tom had kept his face impassive at that admittance, annoyed at discovering that it would be harder to get that item off him than he had initially thought. Harry had caught on quickly enough to Tom's intentions, and changed the subject to plans of going deep sea-diving sometime soon. Listening to them chatter, Tom had thought wistfully of octopus and scallops as he twirled his spaghetti on his fork.
When they had finally arrived home and were getting ready for bed, Harry pointedly said, "People shouldn't part with beloved items just for bells, Tom."
Tom hadn't replied and instead fluffed his pillow. Once that was done and he had looked up to see the expression Harry was giving him, Tom wanted to sigh. "He only bought those items because he did not have the bells for anything else. With what I will pay him for his furniture, he can buy far more pleasant pieces that do not make him look like a lazy slob. Everyone will benefit."
Ignoring the jab at Ron and his crush on Hermione that he had yet to act on, Harry had buttoned up his pyjamas and replied, "You mean you want to make a fortune from him and not even share the profits."
"Business owners do not share their profits with their customers, Harry."
"I like Ron's place," Harry had said as he climbed into their bed.
Harry's lamp had been the only one still on, meaning that Tom's face had been shadowed. But he had clearly see Harry's face, and the disapproving eyes that were trained on him.
"I know what you're thinking! So what if he's a bit messy, Tom?"
"Well, I am sure his house is enough to repulse Hermione away."
There was a pause and Harry had replied, "You are unbelievable, Tom, did you know that?" He then had slipped under the covers and proceeded in wriggling around a bit.
Tom had smiled but bitten back his comment, laying down himself to find a comfortable sleeping position.
After Harry had made himself comfortable, he had warned, "On the off-chance that Ron does genuinely want new furniture, just know that I'll know before you because he's one of my best mates, and that I will straight out tell him just how much his items can actually fetch."
"You are cruel, darling."
"Ron could really use the bells, Tom."
"Then he should try the stalk market."
Sighing, Harry slipped his glasses off, and as he turned the remaining lamp off, had said, "Just. Don't. Push. Him."
"Goodnight, darling."
Now Tom has to smile at the live auction page displaying a sloppy set. This is definitely one of the most recent of all his ridiculously lucrative sales.
Tom picks up another cowrie shell and appreciates the thought that the seeds he had planted during that dinner of spaghetti had finally blossomed, even if it was many seasons later.
Hermione was to thank, really. When she and Ron had become a couple, they had been the topic of town gossip for months. It even trumped the rumours that the mayor engaged in illegal street fighting competitions in other towns. Harry had been joyous that his favourite couple was now a reality, while Tom had wondered whether it would last. And last it did, much to his darling's continued happiness. In fact, it was only a month ago that, during Hermione's birthday celebrations, the two of them had announced that they were moving in together. Tom had pounced.
It had been a bright and colourful event, Hermione's birthday party, and he had been roped in by Harry to help with the organisation. There was much to do, and so many to host, because the villagers loved their town secretary and her graceful handling of their mayor. Thankfully, he had not needed to help with the decorations since Ron and Harry had already been taking care of that, although making a huge mess in the process. Harry had constantly come home littering the carpet with confetti and glitter, and that inevitably got on him as well.
One morning he had helped Harry spread newspaper on their kitchen floor, and had watched for a few seconds as Harry and Ron sat together making the papier-mâché model for the piñata. He had grown bored, and so offered to find a copy of K.K. Birthday. But then Ron had the idea of asking K.K. Slider to play live, and Harry had taken to it.
"You two should talk," Harry had said while he dipped some newspaper in glue, "I mean you are the one promoting our music boxes so well. He owes you a favour."
At Tom's silence, Harry had gotten up off the floor. Holding his sticky hands away from Tom, Harry had kissed him softly on the lips and whispered, "I'll make it up to you."
Tom had set off, taking with him the basket of persimmons that neither of them really liked. Club LOL was busy when he had arrived, many queuing up to see Shrunk. Tom had seen a crocodile learning from Shrunk how to feel and express genuine sorrow, and had supposed he would join that line later, much to his own chagrin. He had been grateful to spot Slider on the stage, fiddling with his mixer. Having avoided the gyroids, Tom had offered him one of his persimmons and the music arrangements had been made quickly. Tom had only wished he could depart the venue that rapidly, so he did not have to see Shrunk's amused expression once he made it to the front of his queue. At any rate, he had known that Harry would be pleased that K.K. Slider was now booked for Hermione's party. And for a mere thousand bells. And a persimmon.
The villagers liked to gossip that Hermione slept at the Town Hall sometimes, and Tom had not meant to fuel the rumours when he had suggested to Ron and Harry that they hold the celebrations there. The place could hold the most guests he had argued. They had deliberated on this, but decided on Ron's house instead, also because he had an orange tree near his house where they could hang the pinata. Tom had gone quiet at this. This arrangement worked out even better for him.
With the location finalised, the invitations had been sent out, guests needing to arrive an hour early so as to get everyone in place to surprise Hermione. Ron would be the one to distract her and bring her to the party.
Harry had beamed at him when he had offered to help set up the decorations with Ron the night before Hermione's birthday. He had received a tight hug and lingering kiss on the lips, which had warmed Tom even as the autumn winds whipped through his hair and stung his cheeks. When he had arrived, he found that Ron had turned both his television and stereo on at high volumes; the two of them did not talk alone very often, even when Ron was selling items at the shop. As he helped move the sloppy furniture, Tom had decided to make some small talk, partly for Harry's sake, asking about the orange tree outside and how his family were doing. By the time they started with the birthday themed furniture, Tom was commenting how the colourful decorations he had created for Hermione made the room come alive. Throughout the whole process of turning Ron's house into a suitable place to inhabit, Tom had found that Ron's company was not terrible. Overall, he had thought it to be a successful night as Ron had tried to offer him some hot chocolate and then cheerily waved him goodbye. Harry had been asleep when he had returned home, and Tom had given him a kiss on the forehead before climbing into bed with him.
On the morning of Hermione's birthday, he and Harry had made the final touches and calmly directed the guests to their places when they showed up. The hanging of the bat-shaped pinata, however, did not go nearly as smoothly as he had hoped. He had been chased around by bees for an intense minute before Harry managed to get his gold net out and catch them. Other than that, there were no complications.
Despite the fact he had organised most of the logistics of the party, Tom had not been paying attention to Hermione's face at all when they had all yelled, "SURPRISE!". During the wait for her arrival, Harry had been nearly quivering, and when Hermione had arrived there had been tears in Harry's eyes. He had he rushed over to Hermione to give her a hug and place the birthday hat on her head. After Hermione had managed to choke out a thank you to everyone the cake had been cut, and the presents opened. His joint gift with Harry had consisted of a knitting kit that included needles, patterns, an instruction book, and various coloured wool. The games had begun after that, musical chairs being a huge success with K.K. Slider performing acoustically and adding fake pauses to shake things up. He and the mayor actually had fun with the piñata, which everyone else had given up on because Harry and Ron had gone overboard with the layers of paper and glue, making it impossible to dent.
When the mayor had excused himself from the piñata bashing in order to wish Hermione a happy birthday, the ears and wings of the black bat were long gone.
He had just been about to take another swing when someone had said, "Pass me the bat."
Tom had frozen, bat still raised and eyes appraising Ron.
"Or after you're done with the next swing," Ron had said, rubbing an ear.
Wordlessly, he handed the bat to Ron. He took a mighty swing.
A small dent appeared.
Ron had smiled and said, "We should let my brothers at this. They would be really good at smashing this open."
"Try again," Tom had said and watched as the dent became larger.
After a few times of taking it in turns to swing, Ron had cleared his throat. "Hermione's going to announce it in a few minutes, so it doesn't matter that I tell you now." Ron had begun, fiddling with the bat, before taking another swing. Another dent. "She well - uh." He cleared his throat again and looked at him.
Tom had stared back at him silently.
Ron had given another laugh before swinging the bat again, making a small dent and then passing the bat over. When Tom had landed a blow that had sent the piñata violently flying off the tree, Ron had let out a strangled laugh. Tom had turned to him.
"She wants us to move in together," he had said quickly, and as Tom had simply kept staring at him, it had all came out in a rush. "She asked me a while ago and I've been thinking about it ever since. I only gave her my answer today while we were at the beach this morning. She's so happy about it and I'm so stoked about it as well. I know Harry and Hermione are both going to cry at the announcement. I just thought I'd tell you 'cause I know what you said about my furniture, and you and Harry have been working on your house for years. Actually, I don't know where to start. I mean Hermione likes that my house is near the edge of the beach, while I don't mind the view from hers. There's so much to decide."
He had continued in this vein for quite some time, before Tom had managed to find a break and said, "Congratulations."
Ron's eyes had focussed on him again, widening a bit; most likely he had realised Tom was still there and happened to be the person he was yammering to. Ron had looked at him seriously for a moment, and then said in a quiet voice, "I know what you were implying last night when we were hanging the decorations. And Harry says my furniture's worth a fortune to the right buyer. I wanted you to be the one to sell it. We could split the profits."
Tom had let a smile cross his face, and Ron smiled back hesitantly.
"It is clear that no matter how much we beat this piñata, it refuses to break. Come, let us find a knife to carve it open."
All and all, Tom thinks as he grabs another handful of shells from the second bucket of shells, while he loathed celebrating his own birthday, Hermione's party certainly had shaped up to be very rewarding for him.
Unfortunately though, Harry had insisted on his own presence during Tom's valuation and offer.
"Just think of this as your house-warming present to them!" Harry had said when Tom grumbled.
That stubborn moral streak of Harry's was incredibly infuriating and it had gone even further. A seventy-five/twenty-five split was what Tom had wanted. It was more than fair considering the original owners were not even usually involved in the resale process, and that a good valuer would offer at most one hundred thousand bells. But Harry would only agree to that if it was Ron who received the seventy-five percent.
"We could pay off several expansions for our house if we didn't have to split the profits!" Tom had argued fiercely, but Harry would hear nothing of it.
On the day of the valuation, they had barely exchanged a word while walking to Ron's house. Tom had to move Harry along as he had been lingering to chat to some villagers. Harry and I have an appointment, he had told all of them.
When they had arrived and Ron invited them, he had kept rubbing his neck. And Tom knew that the two of them had been exchanging looks behind his back. He merely bent closer to each piece of sloppy furniture and concentrated on evaluating them. Ron's set had been missing the dresser, the clock, and the stereo he had been unwilling to part with. His sloppy wallpaper had mud-stains on it and when Tom had carefully tried to peel one section of it off, it had crumbled as easily as dried rice paper. Even Harry had agreed that it was beyond the point of being salvageable.
With this fresh on their minds, a seventy/thirty split was the first offer Tom had made, with a glare from Harry.
"It's at least fifty/fifty, Tom," Harry had replied before Ron could.
Incensed, Tom had explained how he needed to procure the missing items and how much effort that would take. Once that was done he then had to clean them all and make sure they were up to standard. Then photos needed to be taken of the furniture from every angle. Then they had to decide whether to have an auction or let buyers make offers and play them off each other. Then they had to wait for the cooling off period to end. Then finally, they had to make delivery arrangements. He had explained all of this in a deadly voice, while Harry had ignored him and rattled on about Ron and Hermione's future.
It would have devolved from there if Ron hadn't yelled, "There's no need for a lover's quarrel over my furniture!" His whole face, ears and neck included, had turned bright red when Tom and Harry had both looked at him. But he had plowed on with a calmer voice. "Look. Tom says he thinks he can rake in at least six million bells, right?"
"Knows." Tom had corrected.
Harry had rolled his eyes.
"Alright then, why not a sixty/forty split then?"
The only one happy with this final agreement had been Ron.
It had taken another week for Tom to procure the missing items: two from a contact in another town, the third from the website he had known he would eventually list the set on, and the last from a representative from the wine company that bought all the perfect fruits that Re-Tail brought in. The total had come to one hundred and fifty thousand bells, and Harry insisted that they were not splitting that cost between the three of them, seeing as Ron had provided all the other items.
The photo-shoot had taken place in Ron's house, and Tom had barked at Ron to leave the door open and get the windows wide open too.
"I swear his eyes turned red, Harry," he had heard Ron mutter to Harry as the two of them moved the furniture into the positions he ordered. "Maybe he's actually an albino."
Harry had laughed and replied, "Well, they do get darker when he's angry and his red apron probably brings it out."
Tom had ignored them.
And after all, he is the one who is laughing now, and about to make the three of them significantly richer. Well, he is not laughing quite now, since he still has at least a bucket's worth of shells to clean. Resigning himself to the never-ending supply of seashells, Tom picks up a scallop shell and lets his fingers run over the bumps and ridges.
His ears prick up when he hears footsteps; the light gait on the pavement is easily recognisable to him.
The doorbell has not even chimed when he hears Harry calling to him.
"Tom! Tom! Come look at this fish I caught!
Tom makes to move towards the door and open it for him, but stops because Harry's already elbowed his way into their store, arms full.
"Look at my catch," Harry says with a giant grin on his face. He holds out the tank, and Tom sees the small, blue fish and its glowing antenna.
"A football fish. How lovely, Harry," he says, hoping Harry does not want to keep this fish as well. "It looks quite lustrous."
"That's what I thought!" Harry leans over the counter and pecks him on the cheek. "I hope Chip gives me a high-score for this fish."
"I imagine he will," Tom says with a twitch of his lips, grateful Harry has no thoughts of keeping the fish.
Harry looks around their store and smiles ruefully at the shells scattered on the counter. "Luna managed to catch a napoleonfish! I'm not sure I can beat that."
"You have nothing to worry about, darling," Tom states as he starts polishing a sand dollar.
Harry raises an eyebrow at this, but gives him another kiss before heading to his workstation.
"How's the auction going?" Harry asks as he pushes a few shells away and places the tank containing the football fish on the cleared area.
Tom slowly puts the sand dollar down, and then the cloth. When he has at long last turned to the laptop, he makes a show of refreshing the auction page. He lets his lips thin while he catches Harry's eyes and says calmly, "You leave to me to watch the shop by myself and clean bucketfuls of these shells while you go fishing with your friends? And this is what you ask me? 'How's the auction going?'"
Harry's eyes light up in challenge and Tom watches Harry stride over to meet him at the counter. Harry wriggles the fingers of his right-hand in Tom's face but apart from raising an eyebrow, Tom's face is blank. Tom lets his eyes follow Harry's hand which goes into the pockets of his pants that are stilled rolled up at the ankle and smelling of sea-salt. Harry pulls out his hand and unclenches his fist. At the scandalised look that must be on his face, Harry laughs.
"Tell me how the auction is going and I'll clean the rest of the shells, including the ones I'm holding right now."
"And the rest you have in your pockets and any others I know you're hiding," Tom responds immediately. As Harry's grin grows wider, he adds, "And the next two dozen buckets we amass."
Harry throws the handful into the bucket, chuckling. "Shells aren't so bad, Tom. I found another giant-clam shell, so I can make another music box for the next person on the waiting list." Harry empties out another handful from his pockets. "And Luna likes my necklace idea!"
"I take it you'll be making her one as a gift, then?" Harry empties yet another handful, and Tom has to wonder how many Harry has sequestered away from the beach, any how many more he is going to be buying during the fishing tourney,
Harry nods rapidly, and Tom watches as one of the many unruly strands of his hair sticks itself out even more.
As Harry pulls out the last shell stuck at the bottom of his pockets and drops in onto the counter, he tells him, "I'll clean the shells from now on. Now answer my question."
Tom moves leisurely towards the laptop and refreshes yet again, though really there is no need to as the auction is in live time.
He lets a deep frown mar his face, and the silence stretches. He knows Harry's not taken in by it but maintains his expression. Eventually, Tom turns to meet the expectant gaze.
"Five million and eight-hundred thousand bells, Harry," Tom replies smugly.
Harry's eyes widen.
"Did you doubt my skills, dear Harry?" Tom asks.
"Not ever when it comes to swindling people," Harry responds, eyes filled with mirth.
"It's not swindling when they know exactly what they're getting and how much others will pay for it," he replies, a malicious grin spreading across his face.
Harry gives a fond shake of his head and leans up to kiss him. Tom can taste the sea-salt on Harry's lips. He deepens the kiss greedily and hears the soft sounds of their lips sliding together. When they part for air, Harry looks a little dazed and he rubs their noses together. Tom is content to let Harry do this for a while, but then places his palms on Harry's cheeks, stilling his movements. Pushing their foreheads together, Tom murmurs, "What say you and I go on a vacation?"
When Harry's eyes light up and he gives that big grin of his, Tom feels his lips rapidly curving upwards in response. He finds Harry's arms around his neck, face nuzzling it, and Tom curls his arms around Harry's waist in response.
"There's still another two days left for the auction," Tom murmurs, "so it looks like we'll be able to make enough to pay off our latest house expansion as well."
Harry looks up at him, eyes alight and says excitedly, "No-one's here. Let's close-up shop early and go celebrate!"
They're both still smiling, and Tom nods.
Harry gives him a quick peck on the cheek before rushing off to get the lights, while Tom turns his laptop off, locks the till, and wonders. Should he take Harry to his secret corner close to the beach where he's been growing hybrid blue roses for him? As Harry takes his hand and leads him out of their shop, talking about all of the perfect cherries they should guzzle on, and getting into Sirius' liquor cabinet, Tom thinks that the flowers are a surprise best saved for another day.