Tom didn't need to take Miles' order, just opened a bottle, slid it across the bar, and scribbled his food order down on a notepad before handing it off to the kitchen. That was service, the way Miles had grown accustomed to it.
"Unfortunate, really," Miles said. "Though now that I've been staring at you for five minutes straight, you don't look quite so much like her. But before I continue my streak of rudeness, Miles Bletchley," he offered, sticking out his hand before he realised she had one arm holding the child and her other hand was around a coffee cup. "Right. Sorry," he said, awkwardly dropping his hand back down.
He had to wonder how the hell he would have reacted if he had seen Bellatrix Lestrange or any other Death Eater for that matter, if some random lookalike had caught him this off-guard.