Title: Looking Back At Me
Author: mindabbles
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Scorpius
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: mirrors, the barest hint of hygrophilia (it's there, they're just not terribly obvious about it).
Other Warnings: Concerns about infidelity
Word Count: 4,100
Summary/Description: After eleven years together, Scorpius thinks that Harry is finally bored with him. And then there's that little blond trainee who reminds him just enough of himself to be worrisome.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my dear elizassecret for the beta and to the lovely and talented torino10154 for the proof. Any remaining mistakes are due to sleep-deprived tinkering. Many thanks to the mods for working with me on the posting date. Not quite sure where this Scorpius came from. He insisted, so I hope you enjoy.




I curl my body around Harry's pillow. The sound of water running in the bath must have woken me. There was a time I was awakened every morning by Harry's mouth on my skin. Early mornings, sleepy and warm, with Harry's cock pressing against my arse, telling me how badly he wanted me. The hours we'd been asleep were too long for him to be next to me and not feel himself moving inside me. Those were my favourite moments in life.

It was perfect, but life interferes with perfection, and I do understand that 30 is a far cry from 19. I suppose I never thought that Harry would come to that conclusion.

Harry's pillow smells like him. I feel an uncomfortable mix of loneliness and desire.

I pull myself from our warm bed and approach the bathroom. The water is still running. I raise my hand to knock – another gesture of recent years. There was a time no door in this house was ever closed.

Harry looks surprised when I push open the door. He is stepping from the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. The sight of him bare to the waist, flushed from the scalding water he favours for his showers, still makes my heart pump harder.

"Morning," he says, stepping close to the mirror and running his fingers through his wet hair.

"Up long?" I ask. I face the mirror behind him. I'm tall enough to see my face in the mirror next to his, over his shoulder.

"Not long," he says. He raises his wand to clear his face of his dark stubble. "Sleep well?"

"Mm," I answer, smoothing my dishevelled hair. It might be time to cut off the long tresses, cursed as I am with father's hairline. "Harry," I say. I touch him. My hands curl around his waist, two fingers of each hand on the damp towel where it clings to his hips.

He smiles absently into the mirror, checking his jaw for missed spots. He's been taking more care with his appearance lately. He turns to go. I don't want to let this go. I don't know why, but this morning it seems critically important to say aloud that something has gone awry.

"Harry," I say again, leaning in so my lips press to his ear as they form the sounds of his name. I slide my hands around to his stomach and press my bare chest to his back.

"Scorpius," he says. His voice contains a warning – he'll be late; this is not what we do anymore; the trainees are waiting.

And that's it, isn't it? The trainees, or one of them. I've met them. I've met him – the one who reminds me of me. He's tall and willowy and blond. He's gorgeous and full of himself, and he looks at Harry like he wants to eat him. And he's 19, just like I was when I first looked at Harry like that. Just like I was when Harry fell for me. Arrogant little slag.

I ignore Harry's warning. After all, I am tall and willowy and gorgeous and I have nearly eleven years of experience in making Harry forget his own name to the little slag's zero.

I slip my fingers under Harry's towel and it falls to the tile floor. I run one hand over his hipbone and tease the other through the line of hair on the centre of his belly. I keep my eyes on his in the mirror. I see the moment he yields, when his eyes soften, feel it when he leans almost imperceptibly back against me.

His cock is still soft. I love the heavy, warm feel of it in my hand. He sighs as my fingers dance over his sensitive skin and his cock begins to fill. There was a time that he would have been hard the moment I walked into the room. But I know enough now to take pleasure in savouring the long, slow burn even as I wonder if there's a reason other than age and familiarity for his reactions.

"Scorpius," he murmurs, all the resistance banished from his voice by the smooth strokes of my hand and my lips on his neck.

I can see the flush start up his chest in the mirror, matching the pink in my cheeks. My cock rubs along his arse, slipping against his cleft. It's been a while since we made love like this, and I'd love to fuck him, but then we would be late.

"Look at you," I say, and he meets my eyes again in the mirror. "God."

Harry clenches his jaw and rocks back and forth, fucking into my fist and groaning. I'm going to come from watching him. My cock slides against his arse and he grinds against me, gasping as he comes.

He leans into me and I hold him. I don't close my eyes. I want to see his face, remember that we still have these moments of bliss.

"Mm," he says, turning to kiss me, sweet and lingering. The back of his dark head is reflected back at me in the mirror. "That was different. Mm, but now I really have to go. The trainees will already be waiting." He pulls back and gives me a look I can't read. "See you tonight."

"Harry—" I begin. I want to tell him that I have as much of a hopeless crush on him as I did when I was nineteen. I want to object that this should never have become a different way to start the day. "See you tonight," I say and I kiss him on the cheek as he leaves to finish dressing.

For the first time in eleven years, I wonder if he was thinking of someone else when he came.

*

The lift slides painfully slowly down to the second level at the Ministry. I should have my head examined for coming here when I'm in this mood. I recall learning from father that when you go looking for problems, you're bound to find them.

I turn the corner in time to see the little arse himself knock at and then enter Harry's office without waiting for an answer. Is it my imagination or does he look behind him, glancing up and down the hallway?

I stop ten feet from Harry's office. Shadows move within and I hear the rumble of voices through the door that's been left ajar.

My two-way mirror feels cool to the touch and I consider speaking the charm that will activate it. The bitter thought that if he wants to fuck this boy so badly, far be it from me to stop him, pops unbidden into my head. I have no evidence that he's even thinking about it – except that he's mentioned a talented, hungry trainee who looks a bit like me, and I remember being that hungry.

I'm afraid of what I'll do if I walk in there and of what will happen if I don't, so I choose the idiotic compromise of spying from the hallway.

It's easy enough to whisper Wingardium Leviosa and set the mirror hovering at an angle at the inch wide strip of open door. It occurs to me that Harry is clever enough to shut the door if he's having an affair, but I'm not overly interested in logic at the moment. Harry has no protective spells blocking potential eavesdroppers. One amplification charm and I can hear every word as if I'm sitting in the big leather chair in front of his desk. How idiotically like him. I'll speak to him about the appalling lack of security precautions another time.

"—physical aspect." Harry's smooth baritone rings in my ears.

"Oh, I agree," comes the boy's clear, pristine voice. "Sir," he adds, an afterthought in a silky tone.

"Mr. Brown –"

"Call me Broderick," the lad says in an approximation of a sultry voice.

Harry pauses.

"Broderick –"

My heart clenches. He called me Mr. Malfoy until after the second time he'd sucked my cock.

"—Broderick," Harry repeats, and I imagine he's trying out the way the name trips off his tongue. "I think you'd be more comfortable in the chair on the other side of the desk. If you need to speak to me..."

The boy gives a soft laugh. "Thank you, sir, but if it's fine with you, I'm comfortable right here."

I wait for Harry to put him in his place, to remind the twit to whom he's speaking. Harry laughs at this little whelp's cheek – a low, rumbling laugh that has an edge of delight to it.

I've heard enough. There's looking for problems and then there's trodding in them.

*

"Scorpius?"

I rub my fingers over the mirror in my pocket. Harry gave it to me for my birthday our first year together. He based the charms for it on one his godfather gave to him, so all in the family, really.

"Scorpius."

I can't get the sounds from his office out of my mind. I might let him call out to me, waiting for an answer, forever.

"Scorpius, I see your finger against the mirror. I know you're there."

I pull the thing from my pocket and his handsome face looks back at me. His eyes light when I whisper the charm to activate the two-way communication.

"Hi," he says. He frowns when I don't answer right away.

"Hello," I say. He does look happy to see me, but my faith is shaken.

"I—" he falters. "Something wrong?"

"Not that I'm aware of," I say. I can hear my cool tone. I don't even know what happened after I left, but I feel like punishing him for what I think I heard.

He looks perplexed. Because he is who is he is, he regroups quickly. "I'll bring home dinner tonight. I've missed you today." He pauses and tilts his head. "Be home about seven?"

"All right," I say. Some part of me wants to soften. This is my sweet, giving Harry, after all. "I'll be home for dinner tonight if you will."

Harry's eyebrows knit together and I can't help but think that he knows exactly what's wrong.

*

Harry is home just before seven. He bustles in with take away – all of my favourites, including a raspberry torte and a bottle of Riesling to go with it.

He sweeps into the kitchen, as he does sweep into rooms, without meaning to, never realising that he's made a grand entrance. It is just the presence he has without trying. He kisses my cheek and asks about my day as he waves his wand and the magnificent meal sets itself up on the table.

An act of contrition or love? I don't know. I half wish I had stayed in that hallway to witness his indiscretion so that I would have a reason for this funk I can't seem to shake.

"What's all this?"

"Dinner," Harry says. He frowns at my tone.

"What's the occasion, I mean," I say. I dip my finger in the artichokes with béarnaise sauce and slip it between my lips. His eyes follow my finger with a hungry look. For some reason, I ignore this evidence that's contrary to my current paranoid little fantasy.

"I – it seems we've been missing each other lately," Harry says, and I'm almost surprised that he's admitted there's a problem so quickly. "I thought a nice evening, a meal –"

He trails off.

"You thought rich food would," I pause, gesturing at the table, "...what? Make you forget that you're finally bored with me?"

His hands dangle impotently at his sides and I wonder if he's actually going to give up. He never gives up this easily.

"You're too irritating to be boring."

This is an old joke, but his timing's off. I cross my arms and glare at him.

"You're not bloody serious, are you?" he says.

"I've seen your current group of pets, and I heard you today," I say. I'm cleverer than this. I never play all my cards before I know what's in my opponent's stack – that's how things blow up in your face – but I've never been able to play Harry like I've played everyone else. "You're surrounded by gorgeous young things who adore you – just like me, once upon a time, and we all see how that worked out."

Harry looks completely flummoxed. I feel a nauseating sense of satisfaction.

"Christ, Scorpius, if anyone should be worrying about that, I should. I'm the old duffer with the fit young boyfriend."

"That little slag came on to you."

Harry's eyes open in recognition.

"What were you – he came on to me, but that's only half of the equation." The affectionate, ever-suffering tone in Harry's voice ebbs, to be replaced by annoyance.

"And what's the other half?"

I can see Harry struggling with a decision, and with anger at my implied accusation. I see his thoughts on his face as he decides to go the route that will not end up with one of us slamming the door. I'm pleased, but the little part of me that's apparently been spoiling for a fight deflates.

"You do realize that you're the one I've been living with for ten years," he says. "Scorpius, look at me."

He's suddenly next to me, stepping close. I move back until the edge of the table cuts into my hip. I'd look like an idiot scrambling over the table, dragging my fine gauge wool robes through the gravy, so I let him back me into a literal and figurative corner.

I do look at him. His brilliant green eyes burn with a passion I'd for some reason let myself believe is no longer there.

"Do you imagine for a second that I'm finished with you?" It's not a question. It's a challenge.

"You can't pretend that things have been good lately," I say. His chest is nearly pressing against mine and tension hums between us. I'm afraid my knees will give way.

"I've been tired and preoccupied with work, that's true. We've needed a vacation," Harry says. He leans in closer. His breath ghosts over my cheek. "I might have owed you an apology before, but now you've pissed me off."

"Good," I say. I slip my knee between his thighs.

"You're mad, you know that?" Harry's hands are on the small of my back. "You think I'd want some wet behind the ears kid when I have you?"

I laugh and roll my eyes at him. How can he forget that that's what I was?

He shakes his head. "I'm furious with you for even thinking I would do that to you."

His body touches mine from knees to chest. I'm hard and I know he can feel me.

"You're not behaving as if you're furious."

His lips press to my neck, just under my jaw. He kisses my cheek and in front of my ear. "I'll deal with that later. Now I'm considering the greater good and I see I've allowed you to develop some false impressions."

"Oh?" I say. I raise an eyebrow and try to answer as calmly as he sounds. I'm trembling.

"Come," says Harry. He steps away from me and takes my hand, pulling me down the hall to our bedroom. He gives me a little push at the door and I take a long, quick step into the room.

"Get on the bed," Harry commands. He flourishes his wand and the mirror on his dressing table lengthens and widens until it takes up nearly the whole wall.

I turn and look at myself in the mirror. I appear perfectly composed, despite how I feel inside. I slip off my shoes and sit on the edge of the bed.

"Up," he says, sliding his fingers under my arm so his palm curves around my chest. He nudges me back. "Kneel."

I look at him as if I'll object, but I move to kneel on the bed, facing the mirror.

"Watch." He indicates my reflection in the mirror and steps to the side. "Take off your robes," he murmurs.

I slip them from my shoulders and they fall to the bed. My hair settles lightly back onto my shoulders, glinting in the lamp light. My white shirt almost glows in this light, seeming to illuminate my face.

"You're beautiful," he says. "I want to see you. Your shirt."

I unbutton it and watch his eyes follow my fingers. He licks his lips and rubs his palms against his thighs as more of my pale skin is revealed.

"Don't watch me," he says firmly. "I want you to see what I see." He points at me. "Your trousers."

I watch my hands undo my belt and trousers. My stomach is flat with a trail of soft blond hair down the middle. I slide them down and my cock springs free. I don't think I've been this hard for years. Harry's breathing is ragged and he's biting his lip.

"I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you," he says.

I think I believe him. I lie back on the bed to rid myself of my trousers and I stay there, expecting Harry to lower his strong body onto mine.

"Get back up." His voice rumbles through me, making my pulse race even faster. "Now you watch me."

I lift myself back to my knees. He stands in front of the mirror so I can see myself in it and I can see his back in the reflection. I watch Harry start to undress. My mouth is dry as if I've never seen him before. My hand falls to my cock as his robes slip from his shoulders. He unbuttons his blue linen shirt and I stroke myself lightly when his chest and stomach come into view. The muscles in his broad back flex in the mirror.

He's as beautiful to me as when I first saw him like this, years ago, and came in my pants before he could touch me. I can't take my eyes off his body as he slips his trousers and pants down over his hips, hitching them carefully over his erection. I lick my lips and he sees, and smiles. He drops his trousers and pants completely and his gorgeous arse presses against the mirror when he bends to pull them off his foot.

"God, you're stunning," he says as he straightens and steps closer to the bed.

I look up and see myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed and my fair falls over one eye.

He comes to me and I hold my breath. His eyes rake over me. When he flattens his palm on my chest and brushes his fingers across my nipples, I suck in my breath, although I've still not exhaled.

"Touch me," I gasp.

He moves around me and the bed dips behind me as Harry climbs on. I have to tense every muscle to hold myself up, and I nearly fall forward onto my hands and knees. He catches me around the waist with a solid arm and pulls me to him.

"Scorpius, look at me." He presses his lips to my ears. "Don't ever accuse me of cheating."

I catch his startlingly green eyes in the mirror. "Don't give me reason to."

We both know I don't mean Broderick Brown. He holds my gaze in the mirror and splays his hands on my stomach. His chest is warm against my back and I can feel his cock against the curve of my arse. He runs his hands up and down my sides. I grit my teeth. Every nerve is trembling with the need to feel him inside me.

I lean back against him, grind my arse against his cock.

"God," he growls, and cups my arse with one hand. His other hand circles my cock and strokes lightly. I reach back around myself with both hands and hold onto his hips.

"Fuck me," I say. I spread my knees further apart so I can see his whole face over my shoulder and his cock slides along my cleft.

"Oh fuck," he groans. "Fuck." His hand moves on my cock, slick with precome. "Look at it," he moans.

I watch his hand on my now glistening cock. I love the feel of his hand slippery from me. Each time his hand twists around the head, it comes back wetter and I can barely stand it. I've never watched him do this like this before. How it feels, the sounds, and the sight of his hand getting slicker and slicker make me dizzy.

"Harry, please," I say. I arch my back so his cock presses against my entrance.

"Yeah," he breathes.

He holds his hand out, palm up, whispering a charm, and when his fingers slide over my arse, they're slippery and cool. I moan his name as he slips one finger inside. I spread my knees wider and rock back. I'm slick and ready. I want him now. I watch as a flush creeps up my chest. My lips are red from biting them.

"Fuck, come on," I plead.

I watch his reflection look down as he grips his cock and presses the head against my entrance, loosening me with small pulses of his hips. I love it when he does this, when it is nothing but his cock that opens me. He presses his hand to my abdomen and pulls me closer. The head of his cock pushes inside and his eyes fall shut.

"Watch," I say and his eyes snap open with surprise. "Watch yourself fuck me." I wind my arm back around his neck and twine my fingers in his hair. He presses forward until his hips are flush against my back. "Move," I say.

Harry pulls back and I can feel every inch of his cock dragging over my sensitive nerve endings. He lets the head of his cock slip nearly free, so I feel him stretching me again when he pushes back in.

"So good," he gasps.

He moves again. His cock fills me so completely and his eyes rake hungrily over me, watching my body move against his. I can't believe I ever doubted, ever worried.

I fall to my hands and knees and roll my hips, forcing his cock even deeper inside me. Harry grips my hips. I can see his fingers digging into me, and he fucks me harder and faster. I meet him with every stroke. My long hair swings back and forth as it frames my face. Our loud, rough breathing is the only sound I hear. We're no longer watching our bodies in the mirror. His eyes hold mine.

"Oh god," I groan. I reach under my body and fist my cock. "Harder." He pulls me back against him again and again. I'm going to come. I can't look away from his eyes, urging me, begging me to come because he won't let himself until I do. I squeeze over the head of my cock and my hand is wet with my own fluid. "Come," I say. "I want you to come inside me."

He moans suddenly, long and low. He pushes into to me hard and stills as his mouth falls open around words he can't form. When he moves again, I can feel the slickness of his come inside me.

"Harry. Fuck." I reach back and swipe my fingers through his come where it is dripping from me, coating my fingers. He keeps fucking me with his just softening cock, gritting his teeth with the effort. I stroke myself, covering my cock with his come, and everything else disappears as I come hard enough to see spots of light before my eyes.

Harry falls over my back, his arm around my chest. In the mirror, I watch him kiss my back and shoulders. He eases us to lie side by side on the bed.

"I concede," I say, softly against his skin. "Perhaps you're not bored with me."

He laughs breathlessly and nuzzles his face into my neck. I sink into our warm bed, enveloped in Harry's body. I exhale slowly as I hold onto him.

His breathing evens. I don't want him to fall asleep yet. I just got him back.

"I've worked up an appetite," I say. That beautiful dinner is spoiling in the other room. "Mm, go and fetch that torte." He lifts his head and regards me with one open eye. "And the wine."

"As I said, you're too irritating to be boring," says Harry. He leans up on one arm and lies half on top of me. He yawns theatrically and leans on me heavily.

I reach to the bedside table for my wand and flourish it at the enlarged mirror. It lifts into the air and floats from the end of the bed to the ceiling, right over the centre of our big bed. I look up and nod at Harry's bemused face in the mirror that is now affixed to the ceiling. "I was going to say that I thought we might need replenishment, but if you're too tired..."

I must say, when properly motivated, he moves just as quickly now as he did eleven years ago.