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Lemon Drops and Blood Pops	By : TokiMirage Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12437 -:- 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
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- 5
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 Four:
wWwWw
“I think it’s a great play on your name,” Darcy argued the next morning.
Harry ran a hand over his face, three broomsticks sitting on the workbench next to him. Each was made with a different wood, and each had their pros and cons because of it. He still hadn’t named them.
When Darcy had ‘ooh’ed and ‘aah’ed over them when she came in that morning, Harry didn’t have the heart to tell her he actually had no real experience with broom crafting. He just knew what was good, what sucked, and how to make shit up as he went – or in this case, spells.
“It’s tacky. I mean, it’s my last name.”
“It’s great! It implies that it’s not just the broom that they want, it’s the what’s beneath the exterior that’s important! Like good spell-crafting.”
Harry had no idea what had her smiling so brightly so early in the morning. Taking another gulp of cold coffee, he shuddered at the taste. He’d only gotten 4 hours of sleep last night. Finding the right kind of wood had been a painful trip through muggle forestry all over the world. He’d managed to find a species guide written in English somewhere in Italy, he wasn’t quite sure where exactly, but finding the right trees had been hard. Some just didn’t want to be turned into broomsticks, even if they were just supposed to be muggle trees with no sentience. Ugh. Stupid extramagical sense giving him all this trouble. He knew he’d thank it later, but only after he’d gotten another three cups of coffee into his system. Bless Americans and their coffee. Earl Grey could go hump a tree.
“ ‘Under the Wood’ is the tackiest play on words I have ever heard. People are going to think I’m some sort of narcissistic freak!”
She finally got fed up with him and slammed her fist on the table. “Harrison Underwood you are keeping this name or so help me I’ll curse your sign to read it for eternity!”
He backed down after that.
Next they were on to arguing broom names.
“I honestly don’t care what you come up with, but at least pick something that suits their personality!”
She looked at him funny. “And what personality is that?”
“The Yellow-cedar is easy-going, easy to control, slow to change speeds. The European larch is stubborn, but can execute more versatile turning. The Western Juniper is quick to speed up, slow to slow down, and doesn’t have that great of turning capabilities. In fact, it downright sucks at turning.”
She stared at him.
“I’d suggest we use the Yellow-cedar for leisure travel, the European larch for Quidditch, and the Western Juniper for long distance travel.”
“H-how do you know all this?”
He stared at her like she was crazy. “I test-flew ‘em. The Western Juniper almost crashed me into a cliff. Now, names, name-lady. I’m too tired to think up somethin’ witty.”
He reached for the old pot of coffee he’d ‘borrowed’ from a muggle shop nearby. Hey, he needed it more than they did. He so needed to buy real coffee, and a real coffee maker. Ugh. He wasn’t looking forward to the amount of work it would take to get the thing to run off magic. Hermione had discovered the technique during the war and forced him to learn it so he could insulate the muggle bombs they were sending through Voldemort’s wards. She’d been very adamant about having nothing to do with their deployment.
He was thankful for that stubbornness now.
“Well… let’s use Straight Arrow for the Juniper, Smooth Bee for the leisure and… Maneuvrability… Nimble Lark?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t care. You like ‘em, I’ll keep ‘em.” Since his eyes were closed, he didn’t see the pleased light in her eyes. “You wanna brand ‘em?”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Just have to paint it by hand. Any magic y’do’ll screw with the charm work an’ make it less effective.”
Smiling brightly, she apparated away, the crack making Harry’s headache worse, and was gone for a couple minutes before reappearing. The brooms looked economical, that was for sure. He hadn’t slicked them up with magic like Hopscott did, and so because of the lack of ambient magic floating around and messing with the wood, the charms would last up to five years of constant use.
When he saw her start painting with the army of colours and brushes she’d brought with her, Harry had to admit she had talent. She had an artistic flare that he could appreciate. He could sense no magic in the cans or the brushes, which made him curious. What was a witch doing with muggle paints? Maybe she was Muggle-born. In this time period there was little respect for wizards or witches born to muggle parents. He could understand if she didn’t want to broadcast it. She did the Straight Arrow in white, the Smooth Bee in yellow, and the Nimble Lark in blue.
She smiled brightly before blowing on the drying paint. “Is there any way you can make the paint permanent? I don’t want it to come off.”
Harry thought about it for a moment. Shrugging, he pointed his wand at the brooms one by one and put a charm on them to protect them from weathering, weaving it into the original enchantments. “There. It won’t wear off now.”
She smiled. “We have our first products! I have to go change the sign!” She bustled out of the room, excitement flowing off of her.
Harry was a little less enthusiastic. Nobody knew his store existed yet, and even if he sold good brooms, sometimes it was a name that could bite you in the arse. Like the Malfoys. Not much quality to them, but they’d been around for so long people respected them for some stupid reason like blood purity. They didn’t know, like Harry knew, that there were at least two Veela in the Malfoy bloodline. They weren’t so ‘pure’. But no one would ever suggest it.
Picking up his brooms, he went into the front of the shop to clean it up and prepare for customers.
wWwWw
They didn’t get their first customer until nearly lunch time, which didn’t bother Harry much. He’d spent the time thinking of ways to promote his brooms, like getting a well-known Quidditch team to use them. Unfortunately, from the research he’d been doing as he popped in and out of the store to check up on things, most of the present Quidditch teams were using foreign brooms, and the companies producing them actually paid the teams to use them. It wasn’t all about ‘who makes the best broom’, it was about what companies were willing to pay for their brooms to be used and represented by a name.
It made it quite difficult for any newbies in the business to wiggle their way in.
And so when his first customer of the day came into the quite empty store, Harry was nearly bouncing in excitement, though he tried not to show it. He had to admit Darcy was very good at pretending to do something when she wasn’t, which allowed her to get closer to the customer to greet him and offer a smile.
The three brooms were displayed under glass on a counter in the middle of the room. Next to each was information on the wood species, the enchantments on each, and the ‘personality’ of each.
“Who makes brooms?” the man asked, a polite smile on his face as he approached Harry behind the counter. He had an Italian accent… Harry guessed.
Harry smiled politely. “I do.”
“When did you make them?”
“Umm, collect the wood, carve them, or do the charming?”
The man blinked. “Finished.”
“Three o’clock this morning.”
His eyebrows rose. “How long did all take you?”
“Nine hours.”
He made a hmm noise and turned back to the brooms to look at them. Harry wondered if this was how an artist felt when someone was viewing and commenting on their works. He frowned. No, they probably felt worse. He just liked Quidditch for fun, and broom making certainly wasn’t a passion of his. To be honest, he kind of missed hunting down Dark Wizards. He needed to start working out again, or he was going to go stir crazy.
Oh well, needed to pay the bills. And feed the mouths of his revolution. Whenever it got started.
“My son is trying for Italian Tigers in week, and broom he has used for past month broke last night.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Really? How’d it break?”
The man looked extremely annoyed. “He nearly fell out of sky, it… stopped.”
Harry choked back a laugh, hoping the man mistook it for horror. “Was it a Hopscott?”
Black eyes narrowed. “How you know?”
Harry grinned. “Cuz I checked out that amateur’s brooms the other day. They’re atrocious. I wouldn’t ride one if you paid me. Their longevity is totally overrated.”
When the man looked confused, Darcy said something in Italian that made him grin and laugh. When Harry just looked confused, she waved a finger at him. “Stop using that Americanese on our customers! He can’t understand half of what’s coming out of your mouth!”
Harry had the humility to look embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said to the Italian. The man just smiled, the grin still on his face. He tried to clear up his speech. “I would estimate, er, approximate the life of Hopscott’s brooms to be about one year if you used it four hours per day. If your son has been using the broom nearly all day for the past few months, it is understandable that the magic in the broom would fade very quickly.”
The man nodded, and Harry resisted the urge to blow Darcy a raspberry at her impressed look. “I can be wordy when I want to be!” She rolled her eyes. Turning back to the customer, he said, “If you’re unsatisfied with the brooms we have available, I can always make you a custom.”
Black eyes lit up, and a jovial smile came to his face. “Certainly! Be appreciated. How much?”
“It depends on how long it takes me to find the tree, how long to do the enchantments, and how much magic it takes. It’ll probably be from 30 to 100 galleons. Is money a problem?”
“No problem.”
Harry nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Battista,” the man said with a respectful nod.
“I’m Harry. It’ll be best if I meet with your son, then. Can I side-along with you to Italy?”
He looked confused. Darcy rattled something off in Italian and his eyes showed clarity.
“Yes, yes. When?”
Harry looked at Darcy. “Can you hold down the fort till I get back?”
She smirked. “You really have to ask?”
He laughed and hopped over the counter after making sure he would by no means collide with his customer. He held out a hand and was confused when Battista said something quickly to Darcy.
“He needs three points of contact to apparate with you.”
“Oh.” Harry joined hands with the man made sure his leg was touching the man’s calf. They disappeared with a painful squeezing that nearly had Harry throwing up on arrival. Italy was pretty far away from Britain, though not nearly as far as America. Not everyone could do a cross-atlantic hop like Harry could, after all. So this rather average wizard had barely managed to get them there in once piece. Harry was glad they hadn’t splinched.
“Papa!” And the rest was a bunch of words Harry had no chance understanding.
The two men talked for a moment, the younger eyeing Harry dubiously.
Eventually they came to some sort of agreement, and just in time really, as a lady came out with a spatula in hand and fire in her eyes.
Oh dear.
Harry tried to slowly inch behind Battista, but it was not meant to be.
“And you!” she yelled angrily, suddenly switching to English. “How dare you sell such a piece of trash to my son! He nearly got killed!!”
Battista looked alarmed and said something quickly to her, placing a calming hand on her arm.
“Oh. Was not you?” she asked. Harry shook his head emphatically. “Good. Now why are you here?”
“I’m going to custom make a broom for your son.”
At that, she got extremely excited and insisted she translate for them.
wWwWw
It took Harry nearly six hours of wandering the Italian countryside, but he finally found the right tree to suit Anatoli’s specifications. The man was a keeper, so he didn’t need to move very far, but he needed to be able to maneuver smoothly and in odd directions. Luckily for his customers, Harry actually knew how to fly, well, so he knew what he was looking for.
A quick browse through his tree book revealed it to be a Cypress, and it was quite happy about getting out of its forest. Harry didn’t know how he knew that. Maybe it was too much meditation, but he was happy that he had finally found a fucking tree that didn’t want to rot and nourish the soil. Walking up to the broken trunk, he pulled out his steel saw. The copper coating acted as a buffer between the magic nullifying effects of the steel on the wood.
It took him another three hours to cut the perfect piece out of the tree, letting the rest stay there to ‘nourish the soil’ or somesuch, and then sand it down to a broom shape.
Nine hours later, hungry and tired from all the physical labour, Harry apparated to the Italian’s house and collapsed onto the ground. He needed a breather.
When he heard alarmed voices, he groaned and sat up to assure them that yes, he was fine, and YES, he would LOVE some food and coffee thank you very much. He set the stick carefully against the wall, and next to it, wrapped in twine, he put a bundle of sticks from the dead Cypress. He’d probably take a nap before putting it together. Hopefully nobody would molest him in his sleep.
After dinner the mother bustled him into a guest room with his sticks in his arms and tucked him into bed with orders to rest.
wWwWw
He woke at six am the next day, a bounce in his step and ready to get cracking on the new broom. He decided to do it outside, since it was such a gorgeous morning.
Two hours later he came out of his spell casting to find the entire family sitting on the back porch of their house watching him. He almost blushed.
“Is done?” Anatoli asked in excitement.
Harry nodded, holding the broom out to the teen.
Anatoli looked it over and frowned. “Name?”
“Uh… that’s sorta Darcy’s forte, not mine.”
Battista smiled. “Your name.”
Harry blinked at him. “You want me to put my name on the broom?”
He got a chorus of yes from the peanut gallery.
Shrugging, he reached over and pulled the pen sitting in Battista’s front pocket. Luckily it was muggle felt. Popping off the lid, he wrote H.U., though it came out looking like his chicken scratch. Actually, the H kinda looked like a lightning bolt… Holding his hand over the broom, he closed his eyes and weaved the weathering charm into the enchantments. When he opened them, the family members who had seen looked impressed. Harry mentally berated himself for forgetting to use his wand again.
“Here,” he said, handing the broom back to Anatoli.
Deciding to stick around to make sure the broom and master bonded, he was unprepared for the utter disaster that occurred. The jerking of the broom eventually got to the point where he shouted at Anatoli to ‘get his ass on the ground before I blast you outa the sky!’
His mother kindly translated for him.
“What in the world are you doing?” he asked the confused boy, his mother translating at a mile a minute. “You need to work with the broom, not jerk it around! This isn’t a Hopscott!”
Still the poor idiot looked confused.
Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to think of a way to explain it to him. His eyes resting on the mother, who was staring at him hopefully, he came up with an idea.
“Listen carefully, cuz I’m only saying this once.” When the boy nodded, Harry continued. “Do you have a girlfriend? Yes? Good, because maybe now you’ll figure this out. How did you get your girlfriend to go to dinner with you? On a date?”
The mother translated: “He brought her flowers and told her how beautiful she was?”
“Exactly! You need to think of your new broom as a woman. She needs to be admired, loved, and appreciated. What would happen if your girlfriend cooked you a huge meal and you told her you don’t like pasta?”
The whole family laughed at his response.
The mother translated: “She would, I believe the phrase is, kick his ass?”
Harry smiled. “Exactly. You are doing the same thing to this broom.” He held out a hand. “Let me show you how she can be appreciated.”
The boy nodded tentatively and handed over the broom. Harry closed his eyes and let himself adjust to the broom. He was used to the shear sophisticated power of a Firebolt, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fly another broom. Slipping it between his legs, he let her take him into the air.
The breeze felt divine in his hair, like a long lost friend that had finally returned. He had always missed flying when he’d been forced to hole up during assignments. He’d had to meditate for nearly the whole time to not go crazy. It had helped his patience a great deal.
So he flew her around in a lazy circle, got a feel for the acceleration and deceleration, how well she moved sideways, up and down. Then he started pulling out the weird moves, like diagonally backwards. This broom could actually do it. It could fly backwards beautifully. Most brooms had to be turned around, but this one was like water, it flowed in whatever direction you wanted it to, but it would never move at the speed of a Firebolt. It wasn’t made to.
Getting into it, he stared rotating the whole broom in a circle, while moving it forward. His Firebolt had never been able to do this either. Getting even more excited, he flipped upside down, wrapping his knees tightly around the handle and let his hands go. He sat still for a moment, before gently urging her to spin. She did. He asked her to suddenly fly backwards to the left and she did, flowing into the motion instead of jerking straight to the destination. She liked taking the smooth way, not the straight way. How interesting. She probably couldn’t try a Wronski Feint, though. He always liked doing those. Instead he satisfied himself with flipping back on top of her and doing some barrel rolls to evade invisible enemies. Laughing, he let his legs go and kept her rolling, this time with his legs and body flying through the air. He didn’t think he could ever get dizzy in the air.
When he finally sailed back down to earth, he was standing on top of the broom and steering her with his feet. His Firebolt had never been this tame with him, either. It would have tried to shuck him by now.
Jumping off her onto the ground, he smiled when she stayed floating beside him. Turning to the absolutely gob-smacked son and family, he grinned radiantly. “See what I mean?”
wWwWw
“How did it go?” Darcy asked in a bored voice from the counter, picking at her nails.
Harry grinned. “Any customers come since I left?”
“Yeah, but they were just browsing. No one actually wanted a broom. Now answer the question, I’m on the edge of my seat! I closed up yesterday at five when you didn’t come back, and opened again this morning on time. I better get overtime for this! I’m only supposed to work the morning shift.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes yes, I know. I’m sorry. It took me nine hours to find and cut out the wood.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my.”
“Yeah. They let me spend the night at their house.”
“So? How’d it go?”
Harry smiled contently, hopping up on the counter and laying down on it. “It was beautiful. You should have seen her, Darcy, she was like water.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “You met a woman?”
Harry gave her a bizarre look. “No, the broom!”
Now both her eyebrows were in her fringe. “Really now.”
“Yep. And he paid me 150 galleons for a job well-done.”
Darcy squealed as she jumped out of the chair in excitement. “Really?! Are you serious? They liked it?”
Harry grinned. “Liked it? After I gave them a demonstration of its capabilities, they wouldn’t stop feeding me!” Reaching into the bag of gold, he pulled out five galleons. “Here’s your bonus.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “No, I couldn’t. That’s far too much!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Just take it. You’re a part of this business, too, you know. I was missing your artistic influence when they asked me to scribble my name onto the broomstick.”
She stared at him. “You didn’t.”
He closed his eyes in ‘pain’ and nodded. “I did. It looked horrible.”
She looked amused. “I can imagine.”
“So are you going to take the money?”
“I suppose.”
-Toki Mirage-
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Lemon Drops and Blood Pops