Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Lemon Drops and Blood Pops	By : TokiMirage Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12434 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JKRowling owns all that is Harry Potter. I own everything else. I make no money writing this.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
A/N: I read a pretty good Harry/Albus fic a while ago that got me curious. I went looking for an even more detailed and realistic version of this pairing and found myself disappointed. Thusly, I decided to write my own for the fun of it. Because of improbability of this pairing, this fic has resulted in a different angle on the overly used dimension travelling crap that I love so much. :)
Disclaimer: JKRowling owns all, as you very well know. I’m just buggering it all up for fun. (grins) Which means, some things will be utterly disregarded from the series.
Summary: Have you ever wondered if a realistic Harry/Albus pairing exists? So did I. So I wrote it. AU. Dimension travel. Vampire. Magical creatures politics. Warning: Slash. Duh. M/M. Yaoi. So NOT chan. Harry is an adult.
If you think this idea is grotesque, please do not read it just to tell me so. Thank you.
Lemon Drops and Blood Pops
wWwWw
Chapter Three:
wWwWw
As soon as Harry had passed the wards, he’d dropped the camouflaging spells and apparated straight to Diagon Alley. Hopefully he’d be able to get something to eat and rent a room for the night until he could figure something else out. He had an emergency store of 1000 galleons in his trunk, shrunk like almost everything else inside it, but since he already had some money on him he decided to leave it till he needed it.
Leaving the apparating point in Diagon, he headed for the Leaky Cauldron, trying not to stare in shock at the hustle and bustle around him. And at the stores that he’d never seen before. And he swore that the alley was actually a little dirtier than he remembered, too. But that could just be skewed memories, he supposed.
“Evenin’, stranger! What can I get for you?”
Harry smiled at the woman he had never seen before working behind the counter. “I’d like a room and a meal, Madam.”
The slightly over weight lady laughed raucously. “Y’hear that, Dick? Madam! You could learn some manners yerself!” The man she yelled at, a shady looking fellow at the end of the bar sipping at a drink, just muttered.
She grinned at Harry. “Don’t mind him. He’s a regular. One room and a meal comin’ right up. What did you want to eat?”
Harry smiled back nervously. “What do you have?”
She passed him a menu and excused herself to help another customer. He glanced over it and picked a reasonably balanced dish. Steak with vegetables and mashed potatoes. He wondered how bloody he’d be able to have the steak without coming across as weird… or slightly vampiric. People ate steak rare, right?
When the lady came back, he returned her greeting smile. “I’ll have the steak dish B, medium rare.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Just milk.”
She raised an eyebrow at his choice but took the order down on a sheet of paper. “You pay when the food comes. Did you want your room right away or after you eat?”
Harry thought about it. He could eavesdrop if he stuck around, maybe nick a news paper. It would be a good idea to gather some Intel. “After, thanks.”
She nodded. “Tom!! Get your ass in the kitchen! Order up!”
Harry stared as a gangly, brown-haired teenager stumbled out of the bathroom with a plunger in his hand. “I’m goin’!” He watched as the boy disappeared into the back.
The lady at the counter sighed. “They grow up so fast.”
Harry smiled and sat. Why not milk the bartender, the center of all rumours, while he waited for his meal? She had just given him the opportunity to open conversation. “Is he still in school?”
The bartender beamed brightly. “Just graduated! I’m so proud. Did decent on his NEWTs, unlike his father.” She muttered the last bit under her breath as she poured him his glass of milk. “I’m hopin’ he’ll take over the business when I retire. ‘Course, if he wants to do somethin’ else, I won’t make him.”
Harry smiled, hoping it looked encouraging. “It’s hard to make kids do anything they don’t want to, huh?”
She let out a gust of air. “Definitely. I got lucky with this one, I think, though. He’s a right sweetheart.” She smiled, holding a face to her hand and blushing. “He was helpin’ out around here before I even asked.”
“You’re very lucky,” Harry said, trying not to think about his own lack of family.
She smiled. “What about you, young man? Knocked up some pretty young lady yet?”
Harry choked on his milk, nearly snorting it out his nose. She grinned, reaching around to slap him on the back. “No, no knocking up. Or pretty ladies, for that matter.”
She made a cooing noise and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Yer handsome.” She grinned. “You’ll find one sooner or later.”
Harry decided it was best not to tell her that after two failed female relationships, Cho Change and Ginny Weasley, he’d discovered he preferred to take it up the ass. No, that would not be a good thing to say. So he smiled and thanked her, hoping he could steer this conversation in more profitable directions. He’d greased the wheels enough with this happy family crap.
“So, I was wondering, Ms…” He looked politely confused.
She smiled. “Just call me Helma. None o’ that Miss or Missus crap.”
“Alright, Helma. I’m afraid I’m just passing through, and I don’t know where the best places to shop are, or the recent gossip…” He smiled in what he hoped was a charming way. “Think you could throw a guy a bone?”
She laughed. “Sure thing, sweetheart. You from the States? You certainly got the accent.” Harry didn’t bother to disabuse her of this notion. Technically, he had been living in America for ten years now. Before he was here. Er, whatever. “Well, there’s a really good clothing store that just opened, called Madam Malkins. It doesn’t have much stock yet, but she’s good…”
Harry listened to her babble, picking up hints about recent politics, and gently nudging the conversation in the right direction when she strayed. It was hard to keep her talking when she had to help other customers, but she seemed happy to come back to him and talk some more, for which he was grateful. When his food came, she had to leave him to keep up with the dinner rush, but he already had plenty of information.
The people were dissatisfied with the Ministry, but not nearly as much as they were during the first and second war. Tom would slowly become Voldemort over the next 25 years, applying for the DADA position at Hogwarts at some point after Dumbledore would become Headmaster… If he was just in the past. Or maybe-
His brain jerked to a stop as the memory of his last moments before was triggered. Blinking rapidly to clear the spots from his vision, Harry stared down at his half-eaten steak. He was in another dimension? What had Hermione been talking about right before then…? Something in Brazil… and there was that parchment with swirling letters on it… written parselmouth. He’d said the spell out loud and- no, think about what Hermione was blathering on about… she’d mentioned… time inconsistencies? People being the same? So, he was either in a dimension very different from his own, or rather similar. The question was, would things progress as they had in his world? Did he have ‘knowledge’ of a possible ‘future’, or would things be completely different? Would Tom be evil?
Harry scoffed. Of course Tom would be evil. The little brat was already reading books in the restricted section, and he was probably graduating soon. Who knew if he’d go work at Borgin and Burks or not? Had he already begun his research on horcruxes? Would he ask for the DADA position at all? Would Dumbledore even get his promotion to headmaster?
So many questions, and he had no way of getting answers. Just because he knew a possible future didn’t mean that things would turn out the same way. He’d already started affecting events, just sitting at this counter and taking to Helma. But for him to even be here in the first place, there must have been differences before he came along. After all, he hadn’t travelled back in time or anything, he had travelled sideways. Or something. He only remembered so much Hermione theory from fifteen years ago.
Hermione. How was she holding up? Would she try to find him? Did she even know where he was? How would she find him? There were so many dimensions, and it wasn’t like he could put up a sign at the entrance saying ‘Harry Potter, looking for Hermione Granger, Is Here’. He stopped himself. He couldn’t think of what if’s right now. He had a job to do. He had a life to figure out. Only when his immediate problems were solved would he let himself wonder.
“You okay, sweetheart? You look a little pale.”
Harry snapped out of it to see Helma standing in front of him. He smiled weakly at her. “Just contemplating how little money I have.”
She frowned. “Need a job?”
He nodded, grabbing his cup of milk and swirling the contents to get himself focused in the real world again.
“Well, I have enough help with Tom, but you could try asking around Diagon Alley. You got any special skills?”
Caught off guard, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Cooking.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Really now? Few men have that skill, hun.” She winked at him. “Anything else you can think of? It’s best to have as many options as you can.”
He thought about it. He was so not about to tell her subterfuge and assassinations were his specialty. “Um, well, I’m pretty good with a wand.” He ignored the double entendre that could have been.
She raised an eyebrow. “Anything you’re interested in, hun? You lookin’ for a long term job or a short one?”
“Long term.”
“Well, I’d suggest finding a job to put food on the table, and then get picky about finding a better one.” She smiled. “Can I get you anything else tonight?”
He shook his head, took out his wand, and cast a conjuring spell and levitating charm consecutively. His leftovers floated into a small box that he sealed, shrunk, and put in his pocket. All without words.
Helma’s eyebrows rose. “Well, you said you were good with a wand. You learn silent castin’ in school?” she asked, handing him the key to his room.
Harry nodded. “Yes. And thanks.”
She grinned. “For what? Takin’ yer money? That’s one galleon please.”
As soon as Harry got up to his room, he collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. Traveling dimensions tired a guy out. He’d create his ID early tomorrow morning, when it was still night in America. He’d done it plenty of times before, so this shouldn’t be any different.
wWwWw
Well, it was different, but actually easier than before. Offices had moved, so he’d had to track those down, but the bright side was that muggles didn’t have computers everywhere that he had to pay a hacker to deal with and then obliviate. Oh no, everything was in easily forged paper copies, with only a couple backups that he had to locate and adjust. So now all he had to do was find some dead guy named Harry that nobody cared about, make him undead, and steal his name.
Thank god for complex summoning charms.
He was currently standing in a highly secret government facility staring at ten possible Harrys whose name he could steal. Three of them he sent back to where they came from, as they still had living family. The other seven he spent the next hour going over. He had to charm a couple security guards into confusion, but other than that it was a cakewalk compared to how much trouble it normally took.
He eventually settled on Harrison Underwood, a 30-year-old man who would now be 35 if he was still alive. He’d been boring in life. He’d died of heart attack in the middle of a restaurant and hadn’t even made the paper. He’d worked dead-end jobs his entire life, lived alone, died alone, and nobody had remembered him.
Perfect.
Harry made some corrections to the file, glamoured himself to look like the picture (except not quite so large), made himself not dead, destroyed the death certificate, took the birth certificate, and looked through the register to see where else the man’s files were being kept. Luckily, he only had three other stops to make today. He had two files to change and he had to get into the American Department of Magic to turn Harrison Underwood into a wizard.
wWwWw
Harry arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron tired but satisfied. He’d only had to be so detailed with a fake identity once before, and he was quite glad that now he would never have to do it again. He didn’t work for the Agency any more, after all. They didn’t even know he existed. Heck, he didn’t even know if they existed yet.
After becoming a real person, Harry knew he needed to find a job. In records he was a home schooled wizard with the same OWLs and NEWTs as in his old world, but as he wasn’t going to become an auror (at least not yet) he didn’t really know what to do with himself. Letting out a sigh, he snuggled into the sheets, wanting to sleep until he got kicked out at noon.
wWwWw
He woke up with such a craving for blood that he knew it was his bi-weekly feeding time. Growling under his breath, his forced his fangs to resheath and fell out of bed. He needed to go buy some blood pops.
Harry’s state of half-vampirism was quite an odd occurrence in the magical world. Hermione told him he was the first of his kind. He told her he didn’t really care. All he knew was that he had slightly better senses, could see in the dark, could bench press a pony, and got irritating cravings for blood every two weeks. He didn’t actually need blood, like a real vampire, but the craving wouldn’t go away until it was satisfied. When he had first survived the failed turning, he’d been disgusted with the idea of drinking blood, and had managed to ‘starve’ himself for a month before he caved, vanished into the Forbidden Forest, and drained a wolf dry. Now he just fed the craving so he wouldn’t have deal with it 24/7. Blood pops helped especially, if he had to put off a feeding for a long period of time. On assignment once, holed up in the ceiling of a department store waiting for his target, he’d had to suffer his craving for a week. Since he’d had a supply of blood pops at the time (as a safety precaution), he’d managed to refrain from ripping into the muggle whose office he was watching.
Being a half-vampire had also helped with the Magical Beings Movement right after the end of the war. Who was going to call The-Boy-Who-Lived a creature and take away his rights? Or rather, who would dare. He’d become well known for his ruthlessness during the war, especially after Scrimgeour, the new Minister, made killing Death Eaters completely legal. It was a huge turning point in the war.
And now all that hard work had never happened. Vampires were kill-on-sight ‘extremely dangerous magical creatures’, and werewolves only had it moderately better than them. He wasn’t a politician. How the hell was he supposed to get something that massive to happen again?
Find another Hermione.
Financially back someone else? That could work… if only he had money. Which he didn’t. How does one go about making vast amounts of money in a short period of time? Then suddenly, it clicked. What if he owned an incredibly successful business…? And what kind of business was successful no matter how bad the war got? Quidditch.
Brooms. He could go into brooms. Put Quality Quidditch Supplies, if they even existed, out of business. Part of his training back at the Agency had been how to throw a Firebolt equivalent broom together in ten minutes. The tough part about making brooms was that you couldn’t carve it by wand or use a magical wood, because the ambient magic would disrupt the new spells you put on it.
He got an evil grin on his face. First he had to get a name for himself, or rather, his broom. Whatever that broom may be. And he needed to check out the competition, see what they had to offer so he could offer better.
With plans swirling in his head, he apparated to Diagon Alley.
wWwWw
“You wanna work here, you say?”
Harry nodded. “Oh yes. I’ve heard you make the best brooms in Britain, and I really love Quidditch, so I’d love to work here, even if all I do is mop the floor!” He hoped he sounded enthusiastic. Because he really didn’t like cleaning. Suffering 17 years at the Dursleys had made him hate it. And the only reason he didn’t hate cooking too was because if he did he’d starve. Simple as that.
The balding man sitting behind the counter looked rather dubious. “You look like you’ve been outa school for ten or so years, why did you choose to work here now?”
Harry let his expression turn downtrodden. “Well…” He wracked his brain for an excuse. “My mom made me work in her restaurant after I graduated. Didn’t want to let me find my own way.” Tom’s situation was the first thing that came to mind, except the boy actually seemed to like working at the Leaky Cauldron.
The man nodded, as if it made sense to him. Beady black eyes looked him up and down, assessing. “Well, even if we could use you, we’re not hiring. The boss is going out of business.”
Harry stared. “What? Quality Quidditch Supplies is going out of business? How? They’re the only broom provider in the Alley.” The man blushed at the sheer disbelief in Harry’s voice.
“Well, an old worker stole the boss’s secret to broom making before he died, and he’s started up a store in Hogsmeade that’s been getting more business because of the cheaper prices. The new owner, who inherited it from her grandfather, doesn’t know much about broom making,” the man gossiped.
Harry wanted to verbally slap him, but only after he executed his devious new plot. “Well, if she’s going out of business, does that mean she’s selling?”
The man looked at him funny. “Why would you care?”
Harry wiped the eager expression off his face and stood up straight. “Well, I suppose there’s no point in snooping around to steal company secrets if the company’s going bloody bankrupt and not hiring.” Beetle-eyes behind the counter stared at him in shock. “Get me your owner. I’d like to speak to her about a business proposition.”
Mouth opening and closing in surprise, Beetle-eyes ran through a door leading into the back of the store. Half a minute later, a young woman came through the door with a curious look on her face.
Harry stared. A woman only 20 years old owning a business in this time and age? She was a bloody miracle.
“What?” she snapped, obviously used to dealing with chauvinism.
Harry smiled at her, and she looked taken aback. “Hello, miss. Are you perchance the owner of this store?” When she nodded, he continued. “I’d like to buy it, if you’re selling.”
She stared at him for a moment, completely taken by surprise. “Why would you want to buy it? It’s failing. That…” She bit her lip, obviously censoring some rather ‘inappropriate’ language. “My last broom crafter left after learning all my secrets. He’s making far more money than we are now, having come up with a better product.”
Harry nodded. “So I heard.” She glared at Beetle-eyes, who quickly shut the door from where he had been peaking. Harry grinned. “I can assure you that this crafter has nothing on me, miss. However, if you are unwilling to sell me the business, I could always go elsewhere to buy a store.” He turned to leave when she spoke.
“Wait!” Harry turned back to her, waiting patiently as she seemed to struggle with some inner war. “The whole business costs 2000 galleons, and that’s including present merchandise.”
Harry stared her in the eyes. She was bluffing. He didn’t need Legilimency to tell him that. He hadn’t seen a single customer enter the store in the three hours he staked it out. “I have no interest in your merchandise.” See how she took that.
She bit her lip, and Harry knew he had her. She wasn’t used to staring down dark wizards like he was. He could beat her in a day of poker any day. “1750 galleons.”
He gave her a level stare, but this time she didn’t flinch. 1750 galleons was a lot of money in this day and age, with inflation and all. He didn’t have that much money to begin with, and he’d prefer to not be in debt before his business even started. If he went to the goblins for more money, who knew what kind of deal they’d wrangle out of it. He had a lot of respect for the species, but they were ruthless about money.
“You and I both know a failing business like yours is hardly worth that much money.” He didn’t, actually, but the shifty look in her eyes had told him so. “If you were to sell the property you wouldn’t make nearly as much money as I’m willing to offer. I will pay you 1000 galleons,” her eyes narrowed, “and guarantee you a job here for as long as you wish.”
She’d been about to ream into him when she heard the second proposition. She closed her mouth thoughtfully. He didn’t know what went on in that pretty little head of hers, but eventually she nodded. “Deal.” Magic wrapped around them to seal the agreement. “I’ll draw up the paperwork for the Ministry.”
“What about me?” Beetle-eyes asked, opening the door.
She glared at him. “Ask your new boss.” They both looked at him expectantly.
He stared. What did he need him for? He was terrible with customers, Harry could tell already. He was a coward. And he reminded Harry of Peter, which was not a good thing. “You’re fired. Your old boss can pay you whatever she owes you, but after that I want you out.”
The lady pulled a sickle out of her pocket and put them in his trembling hands. She stared him down, disdain evident in her eyes. “You heard him.”
After he scuttled out of the door, she let out a breath. “I never liked him. Always felt like he was staring at my chest.” She put a hand to her mouth in horror, but Harry just laughed.
“Glad to have gotten rid of him then! What are you going to do with all the old stuff?” he asked, waving his hand at the door to lock it and turn the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’. The witch stared at him in shock for a moment before snapping out of it. “W-well, I suppose I could just sell it. There wasn’t much left anyway. No point in making more brooms if no one was buying them.”
Harry nodded, glancing around the store, contemplating whether or not he’d change the name of his new Quidditch shop. The old name probably had negative reviews associated with it now, so he figured he’d change it.
“Is there anything I need to know about owning a store? Like whether or not I have to pay taxes?”
She stared at him. “You’ve never owned a business before?”
“Nope.”
If she were less lady-like, her jaw would have dropped, but she managed to cover it up with a hand to her face. “B-but you, you called me on my bluff!”
Harry grinned. “Sorry sweetheart, but you just suck at poker.” She looked positively appalled. He wasn’t sure if it was at herself or his language. Everyone in this time was so old-fashioned. Well, except for Helma. But she worked in a bloody bar.
“Well, yes, there’s a Diagon Alley tax, for keeping the streets clean and such, and then there’s the business tax that must be paid to the Ministry. Like house tax, except more.”
Harry nodded, walking over to a shelf and picking up a toy snitch. He turned it on and spent the next couple minutes of conversation catching it. It was quite slow. “How much is that? And when must it be paid?”
She shifted. “In a couple days, actually. It’s 1 galleon a month for the business tax, and 4 sickles for the Diagon tax.”
Harry winced, reached into his robes for his money pouch, and dumped the contents on a nearby counter. He sighed. Some quick counting told him he had 60 galleons, 5 sickles, and 20 knuts. If he was lucky, he had just enough to buy some wood, pay the lady’s wage, and cover the taxes. Bugger.
“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked, catching the snitch again as it flashed in front of his eyes.
The lady was watching him with the oddest expression on her face. “Darcy Whittleton.”
He stared. “Isn’t that a man’s name?”
The stormy look on her face told him all he needed to know: he should have kept his mouth shut.
“Er, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” He nervously scratched the back of his head, then, seeing the snitch again, snapped his hand out to grab it.
She was looking at him with amusement, now. “I see you do indeed like Quidditch, even if you have no business sense.”
Harry figured it was fair, that she insult him back. He shrugged at her comment. “I know how to make a broomstick, and I need money, so… I figured business’s make good money. I just need to kick the ass of this guy in Hogsmeade, right? Shouldn’t be too difficult.”
When he looked away from the snitch that had distracted him again, Darcy had a hand over her mouth and a blush on her face. Harry blinked. “What? What’d I do this time?”
She chuckled behind her hand. “Your mouth’s as dirty as my Pa’s.”
Harry blinked. “Oh. And here I thought I had done something unforgivable.” He laughed. “Sorry, but you may have to get used to it. This is how we talk, where I’m from.”
She nodded. “Shall I go get the written contract?”
Harry nodded, catching the snitch one last time before turning it off and setting it back where he found it. Darcy disappeared into the back room, and Harry followed her after magically putting all his money back in his pouch. Might as well see the rest of the building he’d bought.
The back space was surprisingly large. There was a long workbench along the far wall, with plenty of wood chips all over the place. Darcy had probably been working on something when he’d gotten Beetle-eyes to get her. He watched as she opened a safe on the floor and pulled out a parchment. Unrolling it onto the large square workbench in the middle of the room, she summoned a quill and ink to her.
“The entire store is made up of three main rooms, aside from the bathroom. There’s a supply space upstairs, this main work room, and the store front. The bathroom is upstairs. I will keep all the old brooms and Quidditch supplies, though I don’t know what I’ll do with them. Now, give me the 1000 galleons and sign here.”
Harry blinked. She was quite bossy for a woman in this era. She kind of reminded him of Hermione’s busybody behaviour, except more rough. “One second, I have to enlarge my trunk.” He winked at her. “It’s a secret.” And with that said, he quickly disappeared upstairs to yank out his tooth and enlarge it. Reaching inside, he pulled out the sack of coin, closed the trunk, shrank it, and snapped it back where it belonged. Running back down the stairs, he enlarged the large sack of gold and dropped it with a tinkle onto the table.
Darcy cast a money counting spell at the bag and smiled when the correct numbers floated above it in gold. She shoved the quill into his hand. Giving the contract a quick read-through, he nodded to himself. It was fairly straightforward. Pausing above the dotted line for a moment, he frowned. He supposed it didn’t really matter what his signature looked like. And so, with his chicken scratch writing, he put down ‘Harrison Underwood’. In a flash of light, the contract rolled up, duplicated, and then the duplicate disappeared to probably go to the Ministry.
“Would you like some help cleaning all your stuff out?” Harry asked. When Darcy nodded with a smile, they got to it.
An hour later found them both sitting upstairs at a conjured table with conjured chairs and (thank god) real tea (Darcy’s). They discussed what her tasks would be, and a reasonable wage. She was quite happy with what he offered. He would pay her 10 sickles every two weeks, and would give her a raise if he could afford it. He hoped that eventually she would be able to run his business for him, but didn’t tell her that.
“Now, I’d like you to sign a magical contract stating that you won’t share my broom-making secrets with anyone. Is that acceptable?”
She looked uneasy at first, but eventually agreed. Grabbing a quill, he quickly scratched out what he had in mind.
While working under Harrison Underwood I hereby declare that I will not wilfully divulge any of his secrets that pertain to his broomstick-related business, through any form of communication, unless divulging aforementioned secrets may result in my death or irreversible injury.
He pushed the parchment across the table. “How’s that? That way if you’re tortured or something, you have a way out. Gotta be careful with magical contracts. You’re life’s worth more than a bunch of trade secrets, after all.”
She stared down at the parchment with wide eyes for almost a minute before signing it. The magic snapped into being around them, and the parchment rolled up and sealed. Harry put it aside to be placed in the vault. The up and downside of contracts in comparison to wizarding oaths was that they could be destroyed.
“When would you like me to start work?” she asked.
Harry frowned, staring down at the grain of the table he had created. He could sense his magic in it, and he could gauge that it could exist for three days before it would disappear again. He needed wood. The question was whether he should go get it from the forest himself, or get it from muggles. Muggle wood was cut with steel blades, though, which impeded magical flow. He’d probably have to do it himself. Bugger.
“I’m gonna go wood hunting tonight, and build a couple of brooms for tomorrow so we can get the business going. I need to go take a look at the competition’s model, too, so I know what I can improve to steal his customers.”
Here Darcy got a wicked glint in her eyes. “It’s 4 right now. His store closes at 4:30 if you want to go take a look.”
Harry grinned. “Why Darcy! You sly girl. Wanna come with me?”
“Happily.”
wWwWw
Harry had to side-along apparate them there, and just had to make sure that he picked a part of the road that he knew had never had any buildings on it. It made for a slightly longer walk to the store, but he didn’t really mind. It was summer, and the weather was beautiful.
“Good evening, wizards and witches, and welcome to Hopscott’s Brooms. What can I do for you?”
The man behind the counter was genial until he recognized exactly who Harry’s ‘date’ was. The two traded glares while Harry pretended to be a rich customer. He ran a hand along all the models, getting a feel for the charms and quality of each before moving on to the next. He wouldn’t be able to copy the charms from these brooms, but he knew he could always make up a better spell. Spell creation had been one of his talents during the war, but he’d never intended to go into it as a profession. It was funny, seeing as that was technically what he would be doing from now on, at least until Darcy could take over the actually business running part of it.
“Can I help you, sir? We at Hopscott’s Brooms like to ensure each customer is matched with the perfect broom for him or her.” He smiled.
Harry shot him an amused look. “What ‘we’? You’re the only one working here.”
The man spluttered for a good ten seconds, though Harry ignored it, moving onto the next broom to ‘feel’, before finally coming up with a retort.
“I thought saying ‘I’ would be presumptuous,” he said pompously.
“Alright, since you’re so eager to help. Tell me your cheapest broom and your most expensive.”
Hopscott gave him a wary look. “The Silver Arrow is one galleon, the Fire Comet is 30.”
Harry turned to Darcy. “What was your lowest and highest?”
“Two galleons and 40.”
“And his brooms are better than yours, right?”
She looked like she had swallowed a lemon, while Hopscott positively preened. His face was even less attractive with all the zits.
“Right. I think I have a fair idea now,” Harry said, stepping away from the brooms and heading towards the door.
“W-what? You haven’t even read the details on the brooms, sir!” Hopscott called eagerly, obviously trying to keep a customer.
Harry smirked at him, wrapping an arm around Darcy’s stiff shoulders. “I don’t need to. Your spells are amateur and short-lived. I bet the enchantments on your most expensive broom would only last for a year if they were used by a Quidditch player who practices for hours every day.” He felt the sick pleasure of one-upmanship as the words hit below the belt. The zit-faced kid turned puce. “Thanks for nothing.” He led Darcy out of the store.
As soon as the door closed behind him, he snickered. “Did you see the look on his face? Now that’s entertainment.” In a rather good mood, he apparated them back to his store. He really needed to put wards on the building. Couldn’t have just anybody popping in whenever they wanted to.
He yawned as soon as the squeezing sensation stopped. His magic had finished converting, so it wasn’t as awkward to use anymore, but he still seemed to have Jetlag… or was it Dimension-lag? Hmm…
“Was all that stuff true? What you said?”
Harry blinked, looking at Darcy. She was almost as tall as him, which made her about average height. And currently she was staring up (sort of) at him with teary eyes. Backtracking mentally, he nearly swore. “Which part?” he asked innocently, trying to cover his ass. When women turned the teary eyes on him, his brain just shut down.
“About his brooms not being all that great? Does this mean we can beat him?”
Harry silently let out the breath he’d been holding. Safe. “Completely. He carves the wood with his wand, the lazy ass, and he’s not very powerful magically. He might have gotten creative with your spells and thought up a couple new things, then lowered his prices, but the quality is atrocious. Certainly not what I expected.” It definitely wasn’t what he expected, but he wasn’t sure whether or not this was the actual standard of the day or not. He just knew it wasn’t up to his standard.
“So we can, dare I say it, kick his arse?” She smiled nervously at him.
Harry raised an eyebrow at her, and she blushed. “Definitely. Now, help me think up a name for this place that isn’t as horrible as Hopscott’s Brooms. Bloody hell, how uncreative is that…” he muttered under his breath, heading into the store front.
He didn’t see the pleased look on Darcy’s face that was quickly covered up by a polite smile.
-Toki Mirage-
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