“Three weeks,” Harry said. Keeping his tone light, he added, “A month, if you want a bunch of insane little tweaks, which I’m sure you will.”
“One week, and I’ll pay double your outrageous price.”
“Two weeks, Malfoy. And you can still pay double. I have other clients.”
Malfoy sneered. “He has tryouts with seven clubs Saturday next. I will not see my son fly on an inferior broom.”
Harry watched as the years slipped away and he was listening to Lucius rather than Draco, although Draco never had the talent to warrant his father commissioning a custom broom.
“He's talented, you know. Extraordinarily gifted. He needs the proper tools to perform. One of your brooms could give him the means to truly impress these teams.”
Harry wondered how much it cost Malfoy to slip in that compliment to Harry in the middle of all the gushing over his son. This was obviously important to Malfoy. Harry gave him credit for supporting his son’s career choice. A sports-star was quite plebeian for a Malfoy.
“I've seen him fly,” Harry conceded. And he had. Three years ago, Harry had watched fifteen-year-old Scorpius outshine everyone on the pitch. Slytherin never lost a game with Scorpius on a broom. Harry had comforted each child in turn as Gryffindor’s victory got snapped from them year after year by pale hands and a smug smile. “I wouldn’t be here at all if the boy didn’t have talent.”
Harry thought for a moment, thinking of what commitments he’d made recently, what could be put off temporarily. It was possible, and it would be rewarding to see one of his brooms handled by someone so capable. Few people had both the money to afford him and the talent to make the processes exciting. “I will need to re-arrange my schedule but I might be able to pull it off in a week. I’ll need to meet with Scorpius several times. With this tight schedule, he would need to be at my beck and call.”
“Of course,” Malfoy nodded. “Scorpius recognizes the importance of–”
The study door burst open.
“What was so important that you missed my practice this–” Scorpius stopped at seeing Harry. His face changed from petulant teenager to sneering aristocrat in a blink. Slowly he trailed his eyes over Harry, taking in the scuffed shoes, Muggle denims, the callused hands, untamed hair and finally the scar. Scorpius Malfoy's disgust would have made Lucius proud.
“Father, please tell me your absence today has nothing to do with Harry Potter in your study,” Scorpius drawled.
“Scorpius!” Malfoy’s voice was low but fast. It rang across the room like a hard, quick slap.
Scorpius nearly jumped, his bravado lost momentarily in surprise.
“Mr. Potter and I were discussing the merits of a custom broom for your tryouts.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes and threw a glace towards the chair to Harry’s right.
Scorpius huffed but sat. “I thought we agreed my Windwhipped III was good enough. I’m going to get offers even if I show up with a junky school broom.” Scorpius glared at Harry, daring him to contradict the statement.
“’Good enough’ is not in the vocabulary of a Malfoy. I expect never to hear you say that again. A custom broom will be far superior to your Windwhipped. I’ve done my research and…”
“Fine, a custom broom. But Father, honestly, a broom built by a Muggle-raised wizard?” Scorpius rolled his eyes. “I understood his talent began and ended with Expelliarmus.”
Malfoy tightened his grip on the arm of his chair until the leather creaked beneath his fingers. He shot Harry a quick glance before focusing on Scorpius.
“Scorpius,” –Malfoy unclenched his hands and laid them flat on the desk– “regardless of what you may have overheard in indulgent after-dinner conversations with your grandfather, Mr. Potter is a skilled professional. In the five short years he has been in the trade, he has become the best broom-maker in the world. We are honoured to have him rearrange his schedule to accommodate us.”
Scorpius slouched in his chair, his foot resting on his knee and one finger twirling the laces of his polished shoes. Harry was tempted to walk out.
“Mr. Potter is a very busy man. I have offered to pay him double if he would agree to complete your broom before Richard Davidson’s.”
Scorpius’s entire countenance shifted.
Seeing that he hit the correct motivation, Malfoy continued, “But to manage such a tight schedule, Mr. Potter will need full cooperation from you.”
Scorpius nodded and turned to Harry. He paused, as if searching for just the correct tone to use. “Mr. Potter, if Father believes a custom broom is important then I will do all I can to help.”
Harry wanted to shake his head; he managed a curt nod.
Scorpius looked to Malfoy, who nodded his dismissal.
Scorpius left the room with the devil’s own smile and soundlessly closed the door behind him, likely off to write several owls bragging of this victory.
“And who is Richard Davidson?”
Malfoy sniffed. “A Hufflepuff, a year older than Scorpius. He was the only real competition at Hogwarts. He was signed to the Cannons last year. We are having to remodel the East Wing due to the damage caused when the Cannons didn’t even offer Scorpius a tryout.”
Not for the first time, Harry was thankful that none of his children had the talent or the inclination to try professional Quidditch. Sports stars were egomaniacs. More than once, Harry questioned his career choice. Though it would be a challenge to get a broom done in a week, getting this exchange over with quickly had its benefits.
“I will do this in one week, Malfoy, for double the price. But if Scorpius gives me trouble, the deal is off.”
Malfoy blanched a bit and his eyes fell to the door his son had just exited. With a tone of resignation, he explained, “Before Scorpius left for Hogwarts, his time was spent almost exclusively alone in the Manor with my father, who acted as a tutor. His parole and our general isolation from the Wizarding World at that time made it a convenient match. We didn’t realize the extent of my father’s influence until it became impossible to break Scorpius of his less than favourable ideas.”
Harry nodded and handed over a card. "That may be, Malfoy, but he is your problem, not mine. If he can’t show me at least common courtesy, the deal is off. Give this to Scorpius; he will need it to find my shop. Ten tomorrow morning.”
Malfoy took the card and placed it on the desk. “He’ll be there.”
“Ten o’clock. He’d better not be late.”
Harry had entered his shop with the first of the morning light, as he did every morning.
He inhaled the mingling scent of pine, cherry, birch and oak. The air was never entirely free of sawdust, a fine layer of it decorated every item in the shop. It was small and poorly lit, drafty and cool; Harry loved it.
Every inch of wall space was covered with broom-making equipment. Two large work tables sat in the middle of the room with brooms floating just above, held in a Suspension Charm. One corner of the room held a tiny desk, lost beneath piles of receipts and work orders.
He took a moment to change his wards to allow only Scorpius Malfoy access to his cottage-cum-shop. HP Custom Brooms was by appointment only; customers were not welcome to drop in while he was working on a project.
He moved to the far table. Stew Crawford’s broom was in for repair again. If the damage was not as bad as last time, he might be able to finish before Scorpius arrived. Donning a heavy black apron, he went to work.
At 10:30 he realized two things: he wasn’t even close to finishing and Scorpius was very late.
At half past eleven, Scorpius walked through the front door of Harry’s shop, looking as if he was dressed for a photo shoot.
Scorpius’ light tan trousers were tucked into knee high, black dragon-skin boots. His cloak was clasped with an ornate gold snake brooch. The left side of his cloak flipped casually over his shoulder - as was the fashion, Harry presumed- showing off the intricate purple and gold pattern of the lining.
Harry thought for a moment, observing Scorpius’s overly polished look (down to the tilt of his chin and the one hand on his hip). He looked exactly as if he was late because he walked twice around the block in case any Prophet reporter might snap a picture of him strolling into HP Custom Brooms.
“If you are looking to get your picture in the Prophet, you’ll need to call them ahead next time. They haven’t hung about my doorstep since the Fidelius went up."
Scorpius’s eyes narrowed but his blush belied him. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Of course you don’t,” Harry chuckled. Scorpius opened his mouth to likely defend himself again but Harry cut in, “All right, let’s get started. We're pretty rushed on this and you're late.”
Scorpius scowled; Harry ignored him.
“Cloak off, you can hang it over there.” Harry motioned towards some hooks behind the door. “First, we need to get measurements. If you can stand over here–” Harry held his hand out so that it rested on a large ruler embedded into the wall, floor to ceiling.
Scorpius complied silently. He took the utmost care in removing his cloak, performing a Scourgify on the hook before finally securing it safely to rest. He removed several invisible bits of lint and smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles.
By the time Scorpius finally moved into place, Harry’s knuckles were white, pressed firmly against the wall beside the ruler. He grabbed a long tape measure and dropped to his knees.
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Please, Mr. Potter, don’t embarrass yourself. I’ve had more graceful seductions by fourth-years. I would imagine that a man of your age and preferences would have adopted at least a few tricks of the trade, as they say.”
Harry narrowed his eyes and through his clenched teeth responded, “I need to get a few measurements: hip to heel, hip to knee, knee to heel. They are all relevant to finding the proper broom size.”
Scorpius’s cheeks reddened and he snapped, “Just see that you don’t try anything untoward. I know all about you and your reputation.”
Harry shook his head and quickly took the measurements – careful not to even touch Scorpius’s cashmere trousers – then rose to standing.
“I assure you, you are not my type.” He wasn’t surprised at Scorpius's remark. Everyone knew he'd come out five years ago, the day he got divorced. He'd also tendered his resignation at the Ministry, and bought a small cottage in Godric’s Hollow that very same day.
“Right.” Scorpius sneered with a tone that held anything but agreement.
“If you are referring to the fact that I am a homosexual, then yes, I prefer men. Not little boys. Your spoiled brat routine is hardly tempting. Now, you’ve said quite enough. One more comment about my reputation and I will attach a note to your forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm, explaining to your father that I refuse to make you a broom.”
Scorpius's face looked like a white ball of fury, slowly darkening to pink. Harry remembered Malfoy’s comment about how his son had damaged the Manor's East Wing, and glanced around his shop, gazing at the dozens of colour-coded brooms displayed lovingly on the walls, numbered bands indicating the details of each broom.
Perhaps he should head off the impending explosion. “Look, we have a long week ahead of us, there’s no time for this. Besides, I reckon every girl at Hogwarts, fifth year and up is overcome with nervous giggles when you walk in the room. You're very attractive.” Harry saw the immediate flash of confidence in Scorpius's eyes and couldn’t help but add, “Just not to me.”
Scorpius made a tiny exasperated sound at the back of his throat. Harry was alarmed to discover that his cock quite liked that sound. Hypocritically, it quite liked the entire conversation. Jumping to change the topic, Harry nodded towards the dragon-skin boots. “Now boots off, those have quite the heel and we can’t have them skewing my height measurements.”
Still fuming, Scorpius pulled out a chair and removed each boot, placing them side by side beneath the cloak.
When Scorpius finally stood beside him, Harry was surprised to see him below eye level. He measured a good four centimeters below Harry’s height and Harry was on the low side of average. He looked down at Scorpius’s socked feet; they looked oddly vulnerable, his left toes curled beneath his right.
Scorpius stared straight ahead, jaw clenched.
“Do I need to stand here all day, or are you capable of recording my height in the near future?” Scorpius snapped. “My feet are getting cold in this shack.”
Harry would have laughed at the ridiculous complaint, except the drawl was laced with insecurity. In that instant, Harry saw a sliver of what might lay beneath the prickly exterior: a boy wanting to live up to the imposing grandfather he idolized.
Harry tucked that thought away and jotted down the height. “Just a few more measurements and you’ll be warming your delicate feet in those thousand-Galleon boots again.”
A few more notes and Harry grabbed Scorpius’s boots and handed them over. The ‘Your Highness’ was left implied. Scorpius tore them out of Harry’s grasp.
Harry decided to call this a day and handed Scorpius his cloak.
“That’s enough for today. Come back at ten o’clock tomorrow and wear your Quidditch uniform. We will be flying.”
The shop door slammed and Harry let out the groan-growl that he’d been suppressing for the last hour. He pressed him palm against his half hard cock. Bloody arrogant brat.
Ignoring his body’s inappropriate reaction, he got back to work. It was only one week. He could get through this. He began to search his stock of wood for the handle of Scorpius’s broomstick. Like a wand, the choice of wood used for a broom was crucial to its performance. Rather than a conductor of a wizard's magic, a broom had the broom-maker's magic infused into it. Layer upon layer of magic went into a broom; Lightening Charms, Directional Charms, Anti-hex Charms, and Cushioning Charms. The handle of the broom needed to be strong enough to withstand the spells placed on it and compatible with the wizard using it.
Harry retrieved a long, thick branch of Brazilian cherry wood, an expensive piece he’d bought on a whim from an American wholesaler. It might just be perfect.
Cherry was a difficult wood to work with, harder than oak or birch. Not ideal for most brooms. But it would handle an extraordinary amount of magic. And Harry’s intuition told him Scorpius would do well with a firm, unyielding broom.
Harry pulled out a knife and began to slice away the tiny branches and knobs along the wood. There were spells, of course, to strip and sand wood. But Harry preferred to work with his hands, whittling away the piece of wood until it transformed into a perfect broom handle. With each stroke of his knife, traces of his magic were left along the surface, acting as a primer for his later spell casting.
It was the small things - these elemental things - which people looked for in custom work. These details were unquantifiable and irreplaceable. They were what got him up in the morning.
If he only completed ten brooms a year, it didn’t matter so long as he made them well.
Harry was focused entirely on re-balancing a broom when Scorpius arrived, late. A quick glance told him Scorpius was once again dressed more for a Witch Weekly spread than broom testing. “I told you, I needed you in Quidditch leathers today.”
What would it take to justify charging triple? Maybe one more late arrival, Harry thought as he struggled to find the errant twig causing the current problem with the broom.
There was a loud thud of a Quidditch bag hitting the floor. At least he wasn’t entirely inept.
Harry focused solely on the broom in front of him. He needed to get the next snip perfect, Scorpius could damn well wait. He leaned in close – the third bristle from the left needed a three millimeter trim. A quarter centimeter off the opposite two should balance it nicely. Then a further strengthening charm to ensure no breakage of the rest. Now if Crawford could just stop missing his feints, maybe the broom would survive another month without repairs.
“You're very intense in your work.”
Harry started at the soft voice in his ear. Missing its mark, the clippers sliced his index finger. “Bloody hell!” Harry whipped around and whatever tirade he was about to unleash caught in his throat.
Scorpius stood directly behind him, shirtless. He was smirking, thumbs tucked in his belt loops; Scorpius was always posing.
Harry’s eyes traveled across the naked chest. Scorpius was so very young: his shoulders were muscled but narrow, the spattering of hair on his chest was barely visible. Below his navel the hair grew thicker and darker and Harry’s eyes followed the path down to the open trousers and saw it dip in the waist band of his black boxers.
Harry’s mouth went dry and he tried to swallow. Scorpius cleared his throat.
When Harry looked up to meet Scorpius’s gaze, and saw the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes, he saw red.
“Put some fucking clothes on, Scorpius,” Harry snapped.
Scorpius blinked. In a fraction of a moment the smug look dissolved and the whiny teenager was back, defense at the ready. “I had to get changed, it’s not like I’m going to walk around in my leathers.”
“You could Apparate to my doorstep. For heaven's sake, stop being so desperate for attention! You're worse than your father was at eleven.” Harry pointed to the door at the back of the room. “Go change in my flat. We're already behind schedule.”
Scorpius’s eyes flared but he grabbed his bag and clothes and headed for the door to Harry’s flat. Harry more than half expected him to simply go home and pout.
It was only after the door slammed that Harry realised he was bleeding all over the floor. He snarled and spelled the mess to oblivion. He took a moment before attempting a healing charm on his finger. His hands were trembling.
He almost never lost his temper these days. The few months after his dramatic career change were emotionally draining but left him thick-skinned. Starting his new business, turning his hobby into a career with the love and support of his family, had given him a peace he’d never felt before. He had found true contentment in this new life. But Scorpius Malfoy seemed to know just how to rile him.
Scorpius returned to the shop in full gear and mouth shut; Harry couldn’t have asked for more. Maybe the kid just needed a bit of honesty in his life.
He handed Scorpius a broom and they walked out the side door that lead to the practice pitch behind the shop. It was barely half the size of a proper pitch but it was enough for Harry’s purposes. And the smaller size made the wards easier to manage. The Muggles of Godric’s Hollow saw nothing but a cornfield.
“This broom might not feel natural. It makes you work for every move and that helps me gage how you control a broom when you fly.”
Scorpius nodded and took off into the air.
Harry removed his apron and outer robe, leaving him in a black cotton shirt and denims. He was sure Scorpius would think they were terribly Muggle (and last decade’s fashion). Harry kicked off to finally work off the tension in his body that always seemed to appear when Scorpius was in the room.
This was his favourite part of his job: up in the air with someone, watching them fly and analysing the best way to improve their performance. Scorpius was a great flyer, no doubt. He was a thrill to watch, even on that testing broom – a complete pain to fly – he was smooth as silk.
This proved his talent hadn’t come from years of long hours of practice or from the enhanced speeds of a high-end broom (as James would often imply). Those things helped anyone, but you never flew well on a testing broom without genuine talent.
“Climb another twenty meters,” Harry shouted and watched Scorpius tug the broom higher. His white knuckles showed his frustration at the slow speed, but Scorpius didn’t push as many would have. He negotiated the broom’s strengths and weaknesses until he found a balance. Harry had seen many a Quidditch player attempt to over-compensate until the broom shook so hard Harry thought it might snap in two.
Harry cast a Sonorus on his voice. “Perfect. Now I want to see three loops then a dive.”
Scorpius complied without hesitation.
Scorpius’s face when flying was glorious. Flying was his passion. Harry understood that. All the pressures of life, all the expectations were left on the ground. Watching Scorpius here, he was seeing the first glimpse of the person beneath the bravado. He was gorgeous.
Harry continued to watch and note the moves that Scorpius struggled with the most – the loops and the feints – a sign he wasn’t as fearless as he pretended. He also noticed the ones he did with ease: the quick direction changes, the high speeds, the climbs.
Scorpius flew up beside Harry with a wide grin and sweat-soaked hair. “What do you think?” Scorpius asked, a happy puppy eager to be petted.
Harry almost wanted to shoot him down again to show him he was unaffected, even after such a display. Almost.
“You’re a good flyer,” Harry conceded. “But you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“No, I don’t,” Scorpius agreed. “But it’s nice to know that you notice something other than my measurements.”
“I’m paid to build you the best broom your father’s money can buy. Not to stroke your huge ego,” Harry chided with a smile. “I think we're done for the day. You can shower in my flat if you want. I’ll meet you in the shop when you’re done.”
Harry sat at his desk making notes. He could work Scorpius's broom to compensate for that natural fear and to give him seamless control where he was most confident. That was the edge of a custom broom.
But Harry would love to do more than that. He wanted to flood the broom with his and Scorpius’s combined magic. The process was difficult. Harry was still working out the kinks, but it would make the broom more responsive to Scorpius’s commands.
He had only attempted it once before and had not been successful. Most wizards had magic which was either not compatible with Harry’s or they didn’t have the natural talent to profit from the imbedded magic. This time, it might be worth the attempt.
Scorpius returned to the shop, back in designer clothes and water still clinging to the ends of his hair. He sneered at Harry. “Our house-elves have larger showers.”
“That’s lovely. I’ll tell Ms. Hermione Granger, Head of the International Commission on Magical Creatures' Rights. She’ll be pleased you treat your house-elves so well.”
Scorpius’s lips pulled tight in a grim smile. “Grandfather says she–”
“I could just imagine what Lucius might have to say. Frankly, I am not interested.” Harry sighed. “On time tomorrow, please.”
Scorpius bowed his head, reminding Harry for a moment of Narcissa Malfoy's frosty grace, and left without another word.
Harry entered his flat to shower and not think about snarky young boys. When he entered the loo, the faint scent of citrus and cinnamon clung to the damp air. Likely a cologne worth more than Harry spent on food in a year. A strange bottle – silver, with ornate black writing – balanced on the edge of the bath. Clearly, it belonged to Scorpius.
Ridiculously, Harry's cock twitched. He debated lowering the water temperature, but he was a grown man. If he wanted a hot shower, he deserved one.
The minute the warm water touched his chest and trickled down his abs, his cock began to swell. Tension always did this to Harry. Infuriating conversations and jaw-clenching arguments never failed to get him hard, even long after the fact. One of his biggest problems with Ginny was how well they got along. The day he realized a nasty snark from a fellow Auror sparked a flame faster than Ginny in a negligee, Harry knew his marriage was over.
And now Scorpius Malfoy was making his cock twitch. No, not Scorpius. Just the adrenaline from the constant battle. Scorpius was not his type.
But today… there were nipples and flat abs and his face just glowed when he flew.
He wrapped a fist around his cock. Harry loved a tight grip, an almost punishing pace. A wank that women could never aspire to. The hot water, the built up tension, it wouldn’t take long.
Harry’s mind drifted to Scorpius flying, to the lost young man standing in stocking feet, to the voice mocking him in that aristocratic drawl. He was panting and pulling and cursing this damn job, cursing that entitled sneer.
Harry watched his come spatter against the tile then fall with the rush of water and swirl down the drain.
It was only when Harry finally reached for his shampoo that he noticed Scorpius’s bottle was no longer on the edge of the bath.
Harry shut off the water and reached out for a towel. His eyes caught writing on the steamed mirror. Fumbling for his glasses, he read a single word that a finger had traced out of the steam: interesting
Harry completed the handle early the next morning. It was a lovely pale grain right now, but cherry wood only showed its true beauty over time. He was rummaging through an enormous pile of twigs to find the correct combination for the base when Scorpius arrived - only twenty minutes late.
His cloak was again dramatically swept over his shoulder and on his head was a Muggle fedora. The worst part of it was that it suited him. Harry could not imagine anyone else he knew pulling off such flamboyant clothes without looking like Gilderoy Lockhart.
“A Muggle hat? Rather unexpected.”
Scorpius’s cheeks grew pink. “There is nothing Muggle about this hat, I assure you.” He removed his cloak and hat, placing them on the hooks behind the door before adding “And you, Mr. Potter, should avoid discussing fashion at all costs.”
Harry snorted, “I promise you, fashion is rarely a topic of conversation I bother with.”
“Obviously. A proper tailor would be drooling over clothing the body I saw yesterday. Instead you hide beneath layers of baggy, wrinkled garbage. Now, I need to put on my Quidditch leathers, if you’ll excuse me.” It was all spoken so quickly, zipping from one topic to the next, that Harry didn’t catch up before Scorpius was pulling at the door to his flat.
It would not open.
“I’ve changed the wards.”
Scorpius’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to strip down here then?”
“No, of course not. But I will not have you entering my flat without my consent.” Harry reached out and opened the door for Scorpius. “Go ahead and change.”
As he entered, Scorpius bumped Harry in the shoulder, hard enough to make Harry stumble had he not been expecting it. Harry’s skin tingled from the contact. He closed his eyes and thought of McGonagall getting a bikini wax.
The day was almost entirely uneventful and unarousing. Scorpius was well-behaved and quite focused once the topic had returned to brooms. This was the most boring step of the broom-building process: finding the correct positioning of the seat, the level of cushioning, discussing the pros and cons of grip enhancers and all the other other little bells and whistles that could be added to a broom. One by one, Harry removed a sample broom from the wall, had Scorpius try the various options and, depending on the responses, he would select the next broom that sat higher or lower or had foot rests or a stickier grip than the last.
Finally, Harry piled his notes reasonably neatly and placed them on his desk. He would begin the broom construction in earnest tomorrow. It would be ready on time barring any disaster.
But there was one more thing. His mouth went dry; he fiddled with the papers further (messing the stack rather than fixing it). He could just not ask, but the temptation was strong. He may not get another opportunity this year, or the next.
Harry took a seat and nodded to Scorpius to do the same.
“Scorpius, I’ve been working on a technique to embed a broom with the combined magic of the broom-maker and the owner.”
Scorpius’s eyes lost the bored glaze that had developed in the last hour; suddenly, those eyes were piercing.
Harry continued, “By having the owner’s magic join with the charms on the broom, the broom would be more responsive to the owner.”
“It would fly better, just for me?”
“Basically. In theory, the magic would flow seamlessly between you and the broom. It would be only an infinitesimal advantage; consider it an enhanced intuition of sorts. “
“Great! So what’s the issue, cost?”
“No. no. I included this in the quote to your father. There is no issue. If you would like to attempt the spell, I am willing as well. But I need you to know that I have yet to have this work. I have tested the spell on other clients and our magic was never compatible.”
“You are rather… challenging.”
“Pot, kettle, Scorpius. Look, there is a simple test we can do to see if our magic would properly merge. If it cannot, this is all a moot point anyway.”
Harry stood; Scorpius followed. “If this works, we will be able to perform the full spell on the completed broom in a few days.”
Harry gathered his notes and a cherry wood twig, placing them beside Scorpius. After a quick skim of his notes, he held the twig out to Scorpius.
“We’ll each take one end of the twig in our left hand – it is the same wood as your broom and will contain the same magical properties. With our right, we raise our wands then with quick snap towards the twig we say the incantation: Penetro Magus."
“Penetro Magus,” Scorpius whispered under his breath three times before nodding and wrapping his fingers around the twig.
“This should be quick. I imagine there will be a pull of magic. Once it’s done, I’ll be able to run a few tests on the twig to see if the magic was truly imbedded and contains both our magical signatures. Ready?”
“For what seems like an eternity for you to stop babbling,” Scorpius drawled in a bored tone.
Harry bit his cheek to stop the tightening of his pants. Damn arrogant kid. He just never stopped the taunting. Kid, he reminded himself: client, kid, Malfoy.
Harry raised his wand to the correct position and waited for Scorpius to do the same.
Harry nodded, Scorpius cleared his throat and then nodded back. Both wands lowered simultaneously: “Penetro Magus. ”
The magic seemed to pull from the base of his spine, white hot and coursing through his body and out into the twig. In an instant the twig glowed gold and burned hot against his palm. But he could not drop it. He had a flash of thought that his skin had melted onto the twig.
Then the pain morphed into pleasure; Scorpius’s cry echoed through the small shop.
Harry gasped, overcome with the intensity of the magic, the raw passion of it. God, he was so hard he was aching, his balls already rising.
Finally, he dropped the twig.
At the loss of the counterbalance, Scorpius stumbled back. His eyes were shut tightly, his hand still wrapped around the wood. Harry grabbed the twig again, pulling it from Scorpius’s grasp, and flung it across the room. Scorpius swayed. Harry caught him before he fell, one arm sliding around his narrow waist and the other at the back of his neck.
Scorpius looked up, his eyes dilated and glossy.
Harry’s ‘are you alright?’ was cut off before he could open his mouth. Two hands tugged at Harry’s hair, pulling him down. Half-crazed with desire, Scorpius devoured Harry’s lips, wet and rough and demanding. He stretched closer, pulling Harry down until their teeth clacked and Scorpius’s tongue was pushing its way into Harry’s mouth.
Scorpius was keening and whimpering and grinding against Harry and Harry was surely going to come in his pants if he couldn’t get Scorpius to stop.
Scorpius released Harry’s hair and trailed his hands down Harry’s body until he was gripping his arse. He thrust forward once, twice, three times. Burying his face into Harry’s shoulder, he trembled through his orgasm.
Harry forced himself to be still. He was close – God - so close. Just a little more friction, another moment of contact or maybe just Scorpius’s tongue in his mouth again and he would be lost.
Instead of melting into Harry’s chest, Scorpius’s frame went stiff. Fuck, Harry heard whispered into his shirt. Scorpius backed away, his eyes clear and now furious.
“You fucking bastard.”
Harry blinked several times.
“You right bastard. You set this up, didn’t you? You're getting me back for watching you wank.”
“What? No, Scorpius. I honestly don’t know what happened here, but–“
“You are a right arsehole. Malfoys do not… I’m not going to turn deviant for you, you pathetic old man.” Scorpius’s voice cracked halfway through, making him sound more vulnerable than menacing. Still in his Quidditch leathers, he grabbed his bag and cloak and stormed out the door.
Heart pounding and cock aching, Harry stared at the forgotten fedora. He shivered as the heat of the moment turned to a chill.
When Scorpius did not arrive the next day, Harry waited until two o’clock and sent an owl.
At five o’clock he sent another.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, he sent a third at nine that evening.
The owls were instructed only to deliver to Scorpius and the parchment charmed to only open at his touch.
The first missive was short, explaining what he wasn’t given time to the day before: it had been the first successful trial of the spell. The twig now contained both their magical signatures, and he'd had no idea there would be any magical feedback.
The second contained copies of all his notes on the creation of the spell and several reference books he had used, in hopes of proving that the intent of the spell was purely about broom-making and had nothing to do with revenge.
The third was much more personal and Harry regretted sending it the minute the owl was out of sight.
He addressed Scorpius’s deviant comment. Regardless of Scorpius’s true sexual preference, Harry shared a bit of (likely unwelcome) wisdom and experience.
At eighteen and a Malfoy and a soon-to-be Quidditch star, Scorpius likely felt in the spotlight. But over time, he would need to find himself and he owed it to himself to be as honest as possible in determining what he wanted – in all aspects of his life – regardless of whether it coincided with his family’s beliefs.
At midnight Harry sent off the fourth post.
Your broom is done. Be here tomorrow at ten (half past) to pick it up.
Scorpius arrived at ten o’clock wearing a soft lavender jumper and gray trousers. Harry couldn’t help but smile. They were the most ordinary clothes he had seen Scorpius wear.
“Good morning,” Harry greeted tentatively.
Scorpius bowed his head, his eyes were wary and didn’t quite meet Harry’s gaze.
Harry moved towards the center table, he rested his hand reverently on the broom-stick. “Your broom is finished, as I mentioned. It needs a few test laps, I recommend once you get it home you fly with it for at least an hour to get accustomed to it before your tryouts.”
Scorpius stared at the broom, arm stretched out but not touching. It was stunning. The design was sleek, the handle narrow, shimmering with polish. The twigs were compact, held together snuggly with silver braded twine.
Embossed at the top of the broom were two names: on one side Scorpius Malfoy, the other HP Custom Brooms, both in a tiny silver script.
“I can take it home today?”
Scorpius stared at the floor. “What about the Infusion Charm?”
“Er.”–Harry looked up from the broom in surprise–“I assumed that you were no longer interested. I can’t promise what happened earlier will not happen again.”
“We aren’t even going to try?” Scorpius’s eyes were still on his boots.
“Scorpius, I’ll be frank with you. I’m not sure what happened last time so I don’t know how to make that not happen again. I don’t see us trying again.”
“But you said it worked? Our magic infused into the twig.”
“If the spell works then we should do it. I’ll… I’ll be more prepared. I’ve done the reading.” Scorpius said, whispering the last of it.
“Scorpius–” Harry stopped, he didn’t know how to word this “–I’m afraid it was me. I think my attraction to you may have perverted the spell. I don’t want to risk that again.”
“You're attracted to me?” Scorpius’s eyes met Harry’s for the first time that day.
“Scorpius, I would never–” Harry fiddled with an errant twig on the table. “I think repeating the spell is a bad idea. It left us both… vulnerable. It’s not right.”
“I don’t think you get to decide that, sir. I am the client and I want to try,” Scorpius demanded, his voice unexpectedly confident. His chin was high and his look was all Malfoy.
“It’s not that easy.” Harry sat down and rested his hands on his head. “Scorpius, I don’t want the after-effects of the spell confusing you. I know you don’t believe you are gay.”
“I… I don’t know what I am.” Scorpius stepped over behind Harry’s desk and stopped next to him. He leaned in and whispered in Harry’s ear. “But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and how will I know for sure?’
Harry jumped up and scratched the back of his neck to wipe away the feeling of Scorpius’s hot breath. He took another step back. “Scorpius, I’m really not the person to be experimenting –“
“You’d rather I go to Knockturn Alley and find a rent boy? Get him to suck me off and let him sell his story to the papers? I’m not that much of an attention whore.”
“In time you’ll find-“
Harry’s words were cut off as Scorpius slammed into Harry with a kiss. Both were wide-eyed and staring at each other in surprise.
Scorpius moved a hand to the back of Harry’s neck and pulled away enough to soften the kiss. Harry felt the gentle tingle of a tongue tracing his bottom lip. His eyes shut and his mouth opened.
He let Scorpius have his sexuality crisis with dignity. He stood and waited for Scorpius to finish the kiss and back away, horrified. Harry already had his ‘It’s perfectly understandable’ speech running through his head.
But that didn’t happen. The tongue in his mouth kept eagerly exploring, the thumb on his neck began to stroke him just below the ear.
Harry moaned, guttural and hardly submissive. Still, he kept his hands to his sides, clenched tight.
Scorpius shifted the angle of the kiss and took a step forward, placing his leg between Harry’s and pressing his erection against Harry’s hip.
Harry grabbed Scorpius by the shoulders and forced him back.
They stood staring at each other, panting in each other's faces, red-cheeked and tingling with arousal.
“Did you find your answer?” Harry asked as calmly as he could.
“Brilliantly,” Scorpius smirked.
“Good.” Harry forced him back another step. “Now be safe and be careful. Er ... buy a book to make sure you know what you are doing and don’t hurt yourself or someone else. Figure out how to tell your dad.”
“Just be careful out there, all right? There are plenty of arseholes willing to take advantage of a fit young man.”
“Please stop talking like my father.”
“I'm old enough to be your father.”
“But you aren’t. And at this moment, I want you to shag me blind and don’t tell me you aren’t interested,” Scorpius said. “You're attracted to me. You said it. Don’t take it back.” He pressed a hand against Harry’s hard cock.
“Scorpius,” Harry whimpered.
“I am attracted to you, obviously. But this isn’t right. We have no future together. You are about to become one of the most popular wizards in Britain. You don’t need a forty-year-old boyfriend and I’m not about to become a Quidditch Wag.”
“Fucking hell, Harry! I’m not asking you to marry me. But I’m pretty sure I’d be happy with your cock in my arse. Just once.”
“Are we clear?”
“I think so.” Harry nodded, not entirely sure what he’d just agreed to.
“I’d like to do the spell.”
“Are you –“
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours trying to figure out if I was gay and learning everything I could about this spell. If we are going to do this, I’d like to do both.”
Harry had a nagging feeling that he should feel terribly guilty, but he wasn’t so old that he didn’t remember being eighteen and inexperienced and horny. He knew how attractive the idea of a no-strings-shag could be. He would make this as uncomplicated and pleasurable as he could.
He walked over and grabbed the broom handle, holding it out to Scorpius, Scorpius wrapped his fingers directly below Harry’s and raised his wand into position.
The broom shimmered gold beneath their hands. It grew uncomfortably hot, Harry watched Scorpius wince, then again the tug of magic from the base of his spine sent tendrils of pleasure coursing through his body. Scorpius moaned.
As soon as he could clear his head, Harry tugged Scorpius’s hands free from the broom and placed it back on the table. Wrapping his calloused hands around the boy's long pale fingers, he led Scorpius to his flat.
They barely made it through the door before they crashed into a frantic kiss, their hands clawing at each other's clothing.
“I’m not going to last,” Scorpius panted into the kiss.
“Yeah.” Harry plundered his mouth, making those once-smug lips plump and red.
Harry dragged Scorpius to the bedroom, kicked off his shoes and tore at Scorpius's buttons. This wasn’t how it should be. Scorpius’s first time should be slow and gentle and with someone he cared about. But Harry couldn’t bear to stop. After some fumbling, they stood naked, staring at each other. Harry reached out.
“Don’t touch me – Merlin – I’ll come in a second if you touch my cock.”
Harry smiled. “Always demanding, aren’t you, Scorpius?”
“Shut up and get on with this, Harry.”
“Fine. Lay on the bed, face up or down, bottom’s choice.”
Scorpius crawled up into the bed and - to Harry’s surprise - flipped onto his back.
Harry reached into the nightstand and grabbed his lube. “Wizards’ lube, Protection Charms built-in. If you are going to play around with Muggles, you’ll need to learn about condoms.”
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Like I’d touch a Muggle.”
Harry scooped lube onto his fingers and rubbed them with his thumb. “You might re-consider, Muggles won’t be selling any stories to the Prophet.”
Harry slid one finger in and Scorpius’s return banter was swallowed in a gasp. Gently, he worked in two. When Scorpius was grunting incoherently and pushing back with every stroke, he managed three.
Harry was impressed that neither of them had come yet. He slicked his cock and lined up. Scorpius whimpered.
Slowly, he pushed his way in, pumping deeper and deeper until his balls slapped Scorpius’s arse.
Harry leaned forward to nudge Scorpius’s nose with his own. “OK?”
“Fuck, yeah, Merlin.” Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut and Harry watched a tear slip free.
Harry kissed his forehead and shifted back. Gently he raised Scorpius's legs onto his shoulders, pulled out slightly and slipped back in. Scorpius cried out, his hand clenching the sheets.
Harry pumped as slowly and gently as he could manage with the magical high he was feeling. Scorpius’s tight arse around his cock made it almost impossible; there was an edge of desperation in every move he made. It was beyond heaven with Scorpius underneath him, gorgeous and writhing and full of passion. It would take everything Harry had to walk away from this.
He kept a fraction of control, until he managed just the right angle and Scorpius cried out again. Harry’s hand reached for Scorpius’s cock, pumping in time with each thrust. Harry watched the come splatter just below a hard, rosy nipple and he lost that tiny hold on his control.
He gripped Scorpius’s hips and pounded into him. The tight muscles spasmed around him until Harry lost rhythm and grunted his release.
They collapsed together in the sticky mess of sweat and come. Harry, exhausted, pulled a sheet over them and the two fell into a deep sleep.
Hunched over his desk, Harry grabbed another parchment. He scribbled frantically:
I just wanted to say thank
Being with you was
Harry crumpled the parchment and began again.
If you ever want to
The newest parchment joined the growing pile.
Scorpius lay asleep in his bed. It was getting late in the day and for hours now Harry had been debating just how to leave things. Scorpius had made the terms of the affair quite clear. Harry would not stand in his way.
Finally, it came to him: exactly the words he needed.
I set an alarm to wake you at 4 pm. I wouldn’t want your father worrying. The infusion on the broom worked. Be sure to fly with it as much as possible tomorrow. Any problems, contact me.
Good luck with your tryouts. HP
Simple. To the point. It had taken six parchments to achieve.
Harry placed the note on the bedside table. He refused to think on Scorpius waking up alone, the look on his face as he turned over expecting to see Harry. He didn’t want to know if Scorpius’s expression turned sour or relieved as he read the note.
Harry set the alarm and waited in the shop. It was for the best.
At ten after four, Scorpius entered the shop. Harry did not look up; he kept his eyes on the useless notes he’s been writing and re-writing for the last half hour.
Harry heard the scratch of boots on stone, as Scorpius strode over to the broom Harry had placed conveniently by the door. Scorpius swung the broom over his shoulder, and as he opened the door there was the slightest whisper of a word in the air: goodbye.
From across the room, Harry’s eyes flew up just in time to see Scorpius walk-out. With his chin held high and his lips pursed, he left the shop and Harry’s life.
It was a perfect July morning.
The hour was still early; the barely risen sun was casting long shadows on the pitch.
Scorpius flew like a dream, smooth and fast and effortless - the broom beneath him just another appendage for him to control without a moment's hesitation. Harry’s chest ached with pride.
The Snitch smacked hard against Scorpius’s palm long before anyone expected it to. The owner, manager, coach and scout all applauded politely but Harry saw the greed in their eyes. This would be the first of many offers Scorpius would receive today. He’d be heading home at dusk with a stack of contracts to choose from, Harry was positive.
Scorpius was theirs now.
Harry memorized every detail: the smell of the grass, the flutter of the Snitch in those talented hands, the gentle hum of familiar magic coming off Scorpius’s broom.
Scorpius’s eyes traveled the empty stands and stopped on him. Not on him, exactly. But the lone shadow cast by apparently nothing at all. His face lit up, hopeful.
Harry slipped into the dark shadow of the outer-walls of the stands, and waited.
Later, when Scorpius made his final sweep around the pitch he hovered a moment over the spot Harry had occupied. There on the seat was his fedora. Scorpius snatched it up with a deep throaty chuckle Harry had never heard him make.
Scorpius’s laughter stopped short as he peered inside the hat. His breath caught as he read the short message Harry had pinned to the silky lining.
You were fantastic. HP