Work Text:
Tom steps out of the shower, the mirror boasting an anti-vapour charm that allows him a clear view of his body, the Alpha lines, and his wet, long brown locks. Securing a white towel, he gently pats himself dry before moving to the mirror to brush his teeth and inspect the smooth skin of his face.
Completing his grooming, he enters his room to the backdrop of soft music downstairs and a lingering, sweet scent enveloping his sheets. He closes his eyes briefly before donning his formal robes, buttoning them slowly, his fingers hovering over the cufflinks. Each one is adorned with an emerald green snake.
Opting for plain black cufflinks today, Tom later dries his hair and secures it in a long ponytail.
He kept it long because his husband enjoyed playing with it. He’s used to the length by now, but Tom prefers a clean look for work.
As Tom descends the stairs, holding his briefcase securely under one arm, the aroma of fresh bread mingling with oily fried goods and a growing undercurrent of anxiety reminiscent of burnt toast, Tom wrinkles his nose in distaste.
"Tom," Harry, clad in an apron, rushes to finish platting the food. "I've made breakfast—"
"I need to leave early today," Tom interrupts, not seeing Harry flinching slightly. Tom strides towards the Floo. "Might be back late. I have a lot to do today."
"I'll wait for you," Harry offers softly, following after him, wiping his damp hands on his apron.
"No need."
Harry scrambles to reach him before his departure. Tom mechanically turns to face his husband, giving him a customary kiss on the cheek, internally wincing when he catches the scent of talcum powder. Harry stands awkwardly, wringing his hands by his sides, his eyes wide and doe-like. Harry opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, biting his lip as if to stop himself.
Tom’s inner Alpha screams for him to do something and act on his instinct, but he bites the inside of his cheek, nods once, and forces himself to step through the green flames. Pushing aside the boiling emotions in his stomach to focus on his work ahead.
***
Hermione Black’s wand gracefully dances across her desk, a typesetter typing a letter while she quickly skims and labels a few files.
She eyes Tom as he enters. "I'm still reviewing," she says, not asking why he's in early. Hermione, a Beta, is ruthless about completing her work and unapologetically stands her ground when facing Alphas—that's precisely why Tom hired her as his assistant. No matter how early he comes to work, Hermione is still one step ahead of him.
When she is prepared, he becomes even better prepared.
"Send me what you have so we can get a move on the case for Friday," Tom says. They have a significant case to present to the Wizengamot, and Tom is determined to be perfect. His formidable reputation stems from his flawless defence in court, making him a force to be reckoned with.
Traditionalist families like the Malfoys have tried to undermine him with bribery and scheming, but these efforts have been futile. Opinions are changing, with emerging concerns about Muggle technology and a shifting economy that demands a more Muggle-friendly approach to help open people's eyes. Despite being married into noble families, Tom and Hermione are constantly reminded of their outsider status due to their blood status.
They work hard to be part of the reformation and the change the Wizarding World needs.
Tom's office is at the end of the corridor; it’s secluded and small but enough for him and his team to work miracles. For the past five years, he overturned the Old Laws and introduced new policies to push wizarding Britain towards greater cohesion and efficiency. He's on the brink of a significant case involving the integration of Muggle-borns into the magical community, which he hopes will lead to breakthroughs in research and collaboration.
Two sharp raps signal Hermione's entrance. She briskly hands him a stack of reports. "Here are the files. Are you here this early only for these, or is it because you've heard?"
"Heard what?"
Hermione waves her wand and wards his office door, her eyes gleaming bright, "Albus might be retiring."
Tom's sharp gaze meets Hermione's wild grin. Albus Dumbledore has held the position of Minister of Magic for two decades. His outdated ideas have hindered progress, particularly in addressing Muggle-born children and their poor treatment. Despite attempts on his life and challenges from would-be Dark Lords, Dumbledore has remained in power. He’s promised peace. Traditionalists enjoy that he panders towards their frivolous needs, Dumbledore prefers passive-aggressive policies to actual confrontations, and Muggle-borns and Muggle sympathisers consider him tolerant enough on Muggle issues.
But Tom (and a growing group who agree with him) disagree that peace is enough. Without progress and real change, it's pointless; the Wizarding World is content to be in a state of stasis. Some hard truths must be confronted. Dumbledore constantly pushes real issues under the rug, so Tom dedicates his life to politics. he wants to be among the frontiers to bring about this change. The news of Dumbledore's possible retirement ignites new determination within him. "How do you know this?"
"Bella," Hermione answers simply, playing with her necklace—a large black pendant with the Bellatrix Star. Her Alpha wife is the High-Rank Auror responsible for protecting the Minister of Magic. She leans in with a sly smirk, "She let it slip to me last night. She's hoping for a younger boss to protect."
This opportunity is what he's been waiting for! "We'll need to be discreet. We have at least another seven months before the next election," he stands, pacing around his office, hands under his chin, already plotting and scheming in his mind. "Do you have a list of possible contenders?"
"Scrimgeour, Bones, Rosier..." she huffs in distaste. "Fudge."
"Fudge is a joke," Tom says, frustrated. He'd prefer to be the next candidate. There was so much he could do as THE Minister, but rushing could backfire in the long run. Tom is young and fresh blood, and he’s building a platform of loyalists, but it takes him some time to prove himself. But… who knows how many more years until the next election? The next Ministry of Magic steps down?
Tom couldn’t take it for granted. "Run our numbers, and we'll schedule a meeting with the rest of the team.”
Hermione nods swiftly, sharing his excitement.
***
Hermione discreetly hands him the statistics between the files on other policies. Tom has spent all morning contemplating different scenarios. There's a slim chance of success, and he knows he can't afford to waste even a second.
A sharp rap on the door interrupts his thoughts, and Hermione opens it with a scowl. "It's Weasley. He says he needs to speak with you."
"Which Weasley?" Tom asks, already knowing it's her ex-Alpha boyfriend; only one ruffigan smells like he does.
Hermione's scowl deepens, confirming his suspicion, before she curtly remarks, "Ten minutes," and closes the door with a resounding click.
"Somebody needs heat meds," Ron mutters as he sits. "Sorry to intrude on your time. I thought I'd steal a bit of your lunch hour." He raises his hand to reveal a wrapped lunch.
The Weasleys are valuable allies due to their loyal tendencies. Arthur Weasley heads the Liaison of the Muggle Division, contributing to safer and more abundant land for wizarding use. All seven of the Weasley siblings have successful careers; Ron himself is a Wizard's Chess Grandmaster, and Molly Weasley's cooking is legendary.
Tom's primary connection to them is through Harry, his Omega husband, who views them as a surrogate family after his parents' untimely death. They refused to exploit Harry's birthright for political gain and were fiercely protective of him growing up. They could have bartered for more power; an Omega from a noble family was no low price, but they were adamant about putting Harry’s happiness first. Tom found winning over the Weasleys during their courtship tricky, but he managed in the end.
Tom dislikes Ron the most, the Alpha 'brother' who constantly hovers over Harry (Hermione, too, had no patience with his loose mouth). Their connection meant Tom was constantly hit with Ron's unfortunate scent.
Suppressing his annoyance, Tom asks, "How may I assist you?"
"Just thought I'd have a chat with you," Ron says, unwrapping his lunch. "My Luna made egg bruschetta with cheese, my favourite."
"No worries, I'm not hungry."
"She made enough to share," Ron pushes, taking a bite. "She believes kindness is more filling than eggs."
"Wise," Tom replies dryly, eager to conclude the conversation.
"She is," Ron agrees. "She's the reason I'm here, actually. She just visited Harry and told me all about the good news."
Tom’s back stiffens. He hadn't thought about it all morning. With the excitement of Albus' retirement, he got distracted. "We only found out last night."
Harry wanted to take the test together. They didn't need it. Tom had smelt the scent strengthening, but he had ignored it. Harry wanted to be sure.
Tom didn't know what to say when the result appeared bright pink, positive.
If Ron knows, that means every other Weasley will know soon, and word will spread quickly. By his next debate, the whole Ministry would have heard.
"Still in shock, then," Ron says, grinning with misplaced camaraderie. "I remember when Luna got pregnant for the first time. It changed my world. Now our house is full of three."
Tom felt his chest constrict, impatient, “Is that all, Ron? You wish to congratulate us?”
He accidentally said it with too much force; unfortunately, Ron picked up on it (the observational git), eying him with an unimpressed frown.
Ron placed his lunch back in its container, chewing slowly before swallowing. His stare grew discomforting. “No, Tom, I didn’t just drop by to congratulate you… I wanted to check on how my brother’s husband was doing,” Polite, bordering on stern, “I remember freaking out the first time I learned about my first, too.”
Tom scoffed; curse these busybody Weasleys!
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because you look paler than an unmated Omega.”
Tom covers his face and makes a frustrated groan. Ron always thinks he knows more than Tom about family matters (prejudiced against his orphaned background, Tom thinks bitterly). He just has to stick his nose where it's not needed! No wonder Hermione couldn't stand him.
Trying to exude calm, “It just, it’s all a surprise, that’s all. I am not freaking out.”
“Is Harry well?”
“Of course he is,” Tom says automatically, averting his gaze. “He’s at home. We'll make arrangements with a Healer. He has everything he needs.”
"That's not what I mean," Ron says, eyes judging, "You know he needs you, too.” Another pause. “You soothed him, didn’t you? Told him you would be there for him?”
“Harry knows.”
“Are you sure? Luna said he seemed a bit upset. In fact,” Ron gives an obnoxious rude sniff, “you seem upset, too.”
“Must you insist on meddling?” Tom hisses, leaning back. "And I'm not upset."
He's not.
Really, he isn't.
Ron’s features soften, almost contemplating. “You’re family; it’s what we do... meddle and get in each other's business. Why are our scents more attuned than others if not to pick up the signs?” Ron looks at him with earnest blue eyes; it makes Tom hate him even more. “Come, brother-in-law of mine, everyone says Alphas are the pillars of our society…but we can lean on each other, especially for something as special as this.”
"Are you seriously expecting a heart-to-heart talk right now?"
Ron shrugs, "No one else here unless you prefer Mrs Black?"
Tom inwardly shudders at the thought of ever having a heart-to-heart with his secretary. She would roll her eyes and silence him. She hated the Alpha Omega discussions the most.
Ron maintains a neutral expression, obviously not budging, and Tom rolls his eyes and drops his head with an unhappy frown. Tom yearned for a family in his youth, but now he wishes he didn’t. He doesn’t need Ron. What he’s feeling isn’t an issue that needs to be discussed.
Ron wouldn't understand.
But there are undeniable knots in his stomach, the weight he has carried since morning, and the same burnt toast smell lingers in his office. He’s tried to focus on planning for the election, to stay focused on work but the pregnancy, Harry, his Omega, and his family's future consume his mind.
Tom leans his head back on his chair with a sigh.
“This wasn’t the plan,” Tom confesses. He feels relief, but at the same time, he is wary of Ron’s reaction.
Ron surprises him with an empathic smile.
“Good things usually aren’t planned, my brother." Tom's lips twitch unhappily at the term, "Remember when you came to court, Harry? You weren’t who I had in mind at all. We almost bollocks it up if it wasn’t for Harry demanding we take our Alpha heads out of our arses,” Ron chuckles, “Look where we are now; it’s perfect, isn’t it? Everything works out in the end, right?”
Tom shares a deadpan glance at Ron's feeble attempt to 'assure' him.
It’s more complicated than that, the emotions that are storming in Tom's chest. The forceful smile hides a terror he carries deep inside of him.
“Everything works out.” Ron insists, annoyingly, as if he read Tom’s mind.
Tom hates the Alpha with a newfound passion. He holds his palm up, “I’d like my portion of bruschetta now, please.”
***
Tom returns home to darkness and silence, his instincts immediately on edge.
"Harry!" He calls out urgently, finding the kitchen deserted. He dashes up the stairs, halting as the sharp scent of distress hits him. Harry is in his room, his Nest, and Tom can almost taste his mate's turmoil on the tip of his tongue.
What has happened?!
The door is firmly closed. Traditionally, Tom honours Harry's need for solitude, recognising an Omega's Nest as a sacred space that no Alpha should invade without invitation.
But, the knowledge of Harry's anguish chips away at his stoic exterior. He's had to carry his own worries the whole day and now he comes home to this! Why is Harry in distress?
"Harry," he pleads, kneeling, head bowed, releasing calming pheromones in hopes Harry can sense them, "I'm here."
"Tom?" Harry's rough and strained voice worsens Tom's guilt as he detects the scent of fresh tears. Deep down, Tom wonders if his actions caused this.
"May I enter?"
There's a pause before Harry consents, "Yes, you may."
Without delay, Tom turns the knob and steps into the Omega's haven. Harry is curled on the floor amidst a stew of Tom's work attire, a Weasley quilt, and some of Luna's colourful scarfs. Harry bundles them all up in a small mountain and huggs random piles of them. Harry is in Tom's shirt, his bare legs twisted atop the mound of clothing. He makes a pitiful sight, seeking comfort from the scents. Tom swallows uncomfortably.
Attempting an encouraging smile, Tom inquires, "I'm sorry, my Omega. Did I upset you so?"
Harry's eyes meet his in answer. Tom lowers his head in regret.
"Can I join you?"
"Please," comes Harry's hoarse reply.
Tom's heart plummets at the sight of his Omega. Tears streak his face, and his eyes are red and blotchy. Harry hasn't cried like this since they married. It's one of Tom's wedding vows, to be the reason Harry smiles, but look at what he has done.
Tom envelops Harry in his arms, peppering his face with silent kisses in apology. "I'm so sorry for causing you pain, Omega."
Harry cries into Tom's chest, his shoulders shaking, and little hiccups escape him.
"Shhhh.... It's alright, Omega. I was in the wrong, wasn't I?"
"I-I know I was wrong too," Harry stammers through his tears. "Our plan... I messed it up. You said five years, and we've agreed on it. I must've mistaken a heat potion or the birth controls were outdated-"
Tom tightens his embrace, wishing to dissolve Harry's concerns. "No, my reaction was unjust," he admits, struggling to reveal his true thoughts; it feels like a giant whale is trying to emerge from his throat, "I was... my Omega... I was..."
Admitting his deepest fear is no easy feat. Harry is so open with his emotions, and Tom has always learnt to box and compartmentalise.
"Have I ruined everything?" Harry wrongly assumes, voice breaking.
"Absolutely not! You're blameless. Our -b-baby hasn't ruined anything!"
Saying it out loud feels like a part of the weight is halved, and Tom can breathe again. Baby. Our baby, yes, the child, is both Harry and his. It is a part of Tom and his beloved mate.
Tom recalls how his father rejected him, how it shaped his anger toward the world, and how he would be almost lost in hatred if he didn't listen to the advice of his friend, Minerva Mcgonaggal. She reminded him that the world was his to make, and the glasses he chose would decide how he interacted with it. He felt unwanted and unloved. Before he met Harry, he thought love was impossible. Yet here Tom is, in the arms of someone who is still willing to hold him after acting so selfishly.
Carrying his child. Tom never wants his child—any child—to feel the way he did.
Unexpected but still good.
Wanted.
Theirs.
As the storm settles a bit, Tom feels calmer and asks, "Do you want this child, Harry?"
"Do you?" Harry deflects in a small voice, a finger hesitantly hooked between Tom's shirt's seams.
"Of course I do," Tom replies, his voice growing with sureness. "This is a miracle, a gift!" He gazes into Harry's emerald eyes, "Our child!"
Saying it again makes Tom smile, his heart growing at the idea. Surrounded by the scentful of clothes Tom is atop a cloud.
Harry responds with a watery smile; the tenseness in his shoulders loosens, but he still looks hesitant.
"Draco visited."
Tom frowns. "Has the scoundrel upset you again?"
"No, no," Harry rubs an eye, "He brought Sev's potions because I couldn't eat... and mentioned D-dumbledore," Harry weeps anew. "Tom I know what it means, the election, your dream..."
"Quiet now," Tom interjects, desperate to soothe his mate. He sighs deeply, releasing more of his pheromones, enveloping Harry, offering comfort and reassurance. "I had hopes true, but you and our family are my priority. There will be many more elections. And this is still an opportunity all the same! Harry, I—" He pauses, swallowing the new lump forming. "—I am thrilled about this pregnancy. I promised."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
"But then why were you, last night- you were so cold. What was the matter?"
Tom tries to evade, "Nothing-"
"Tell me." Harry twists his fingers in Tom's shirt, insisting. "I'll be worried if you don't."
Tom's lips lift in a small smirk. Knowing his husband is manipulating him. "We can't have my pregnant mate worried."
"Then please?" Harry implores.
Tell me. Tell me.
Tom pulled Harry's head to his chest so he could rest his chin atop his head. "It's just that fatherhood is... new to me. I've never had..." His words falter.
Harry would understand; Tom knows he will. Part of the reason why Tom was drawn to Harry was that he felt Harry could empathise with his background to an extent. Harry, too, lost his parents. Although his circumstances were better, he understood the pain and the fear.
In public, Tom maintains an unbreakable facade. Alone with Harry, he allows his vulnerabilities to surface, though it's never easy.
"Tom?" Harry looks up, gingerly rubbing the front of Tom's chest with his hand, offering comfort now, "Is it about being a father? Are you worried?"
Tom caresses Harry's tousled hair. It helps soothe some of his worries; Tom whispers, "Yes."
"Can you tell me why? You'll be wonderful, I know it."
"I'm still adjusting to being your husband." Tom exhales forcefully, nuzzling into Harry's head to remain calm. "Relationships are not my forte... and now, a father?"
"You'll be wonderful," Harry insists. "Tom, you're a role model. You've achieved so many great things!"
"This isn't the same Harry, there is no book to help me-"
"You're a genius! The strongest Alpha I know," Harry says, his voice gaining strength and eyes cleared from his worry. "We'll make mistakes, but we'll also figure it out. Together."
Ah, his precious Omega. A fierce force to be reckoned with. Many underestimate the power of an Omega's love. Like most ignorant Alphas, Tom was raised with the impression of his role, duties, power, and how Omegas should serve him, but Harry challenges them all, adjusting his worldview again. In a way, for many years, this was the power he knew not.
"Together." Tom agrees.
Harry's smile is finally right, long and bright, "Our children are so lucky to have you as their father."
"Children?" Tom blurts, panic seeping through. "I mean—just this one for now, right?"
Right?
Harry's understanding smile eases the tension. He smells like home again, his scent laced with the promise of their future. Tom eyes Harry's abdomen; there is no visible change yet, but he can sense the magic. Submitting to his instincts, the ones that want to protect and claim, Tom leans down and kisses Harry's forehead, then his neck where the mating mark is, then lowers to Harry's belly, a protective gesture over their unborn child that soothes them both.
Unexpected, unplanned but good.
Tom is going to be a father.
Embracing this idea, Tom considers the future. Perhaps supporting Amelia Bones could pave his way to greater ambitions. She will be a good mentor. If Tom plays his cards right, he could be working as the Undersecretary within a year. The public does love a family man.
Harry's content purr pulls Tom back to the present, reminding him of what truly matters.
He whispers promises of dedication to Harry and their family. This is his true dream.
Harry snuggles deeper into Tom's chest.
Harry suddenly tenses, sitting up quickly, a hand weakly pushing Tom away before-
BLEUGH!
Wet and smelly on Tom's arm, Harry's leg, the nesting clothes.
Harry gasps, mortified.
Tom laughs, feeling lighter than he did this morning. He waves his wand and spells the sick clean, beckoning Harry to resume their cuddle.
"I don't think this will be an easy pregnancy," Harry says, groaning and cupping his mouth apologetically.
Tom hums, unbothered, "This I expect." He kisses Harry on the lips, teasing. A hand resting on Harry's abdomen, gazing into his eyes in assurance.
A new future awaits.