Fic: Marauders' Maps
The war dulled with time, or so Harry Potter has been told. It lingers still in his mind. Faces of the dead remain imprinted behind his eyelids, the roar of battle a constant echo in his ears whenever there is a quiet moment. The war haunts him, tears his conscience apart. It cost him a lot then, but costs him more now; his wife, his children, his job. For a while he doesn’t know how to move on, doesn’t have the faintest idea of what to do.
But Harry Potter is not a quitter.
He starts over, opens his own business. In no time at all Marauders’ Maps is thriving in its little corner of Diagon Alley, attracting so many witches and wizards wanting their own maps for this or for that that Harry cannot handle them all on his own. He is beside himself with work. There is no time to think of the war. While this is what Harry wanted, he hates the stress. It’s streaking his messy hair gray.
“You seem awfully busy, sir,” A young man says as he leans against the counter.
Harry eyes him up and down. The man is dressed in the latest fashion of posh robes, his curly blond hair framing high cheek bones and a pointy chin. Harry notes the lively flush staining the pale, pale skin and the glimmer of whit sparkling in the man’s inviting eyes.
“You look like you’re in need of some help.”
So Harry acquires himself an apprentice.
They work surprisingly well together for a Potter and a Malfoy. Maybe it’s the age difference. It keeps them on their toes, and not metaphorically for Scorpius. He dances around the store like he owns the place. Harry is constantly battling the young man for control over the radio. Harry likes it quiet, likes to just relax at the counter and listen to Quidditch commentary. And every time he thinks that he’s won this round, Scorpius manages to switch the dialing and turn up the volume. Soon the music will be blaring, like that one song written especially for the Weird Sisters’ reunion. Scorpius is really fond of that one.
“That’s a nasty case of the hiccups, sir,” Scorpius tells Harry as soon as the young man returns to the store with an armful of parchment. He deposits them on the counter with a quiet thwump. The stocks have been running dangerously low as of late.
Harry nods impartially, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Kingsley ordered a map of the ministry a couple of days ago, and while Harry hates giving priority to one customer over another, he feels that he owes it to the old man to get this map done as soon as possible. It’s almost completed, halfway through the final stage. Huffing in frustration, Harry puts his wand down. The hiccups wracking his body are making the careful precision necessary impossible.
“I can get rid of them for you, sir,” Scorpius mentions off handedly, “Want to give it a go?”
“No, Scorpius. I’ve already tried everything. I even levitated myself upside down to drink a glass of water,” Harry mumbles, pushing away the ministry map in distaste, “It didn’t work. Obviously.”
“I’m sure you tried, sir, but my methods have never failed me. Honest.”
And without so much as another word, Scorpius rises on his tip-toes and stretches over the counter, catching Harry’s mouth with his. Scorpius’ lips are soft and chapped and moving determinedly against Harry’s own. Harry is rooted to the spot, unprepared for the wave of lust and want and need that crashes over him. When Scorpius finally pulls back, Harry doesn’t know what to say. But Scorpius solves that problem, too.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got me lounging around. Who else is going to take care of your sorry arse?”
And that was that.
.