𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

muggle shop items

"I still can't believe this is a candid shot," Malfoy exclaims fervently for the enth time. "God, you're hot."

It's a full length shot of Harry, on the front cover of Witch Weekly, 'Harry Potter – Voted Hottest Quidditch Star, Third Year in a Row!' in large yellow lettering written down the side.

Harry stands on the field, leaning on his broom, looking somewhere off to his left, laughing and then turning to look towards the camera. He's bare-chested and his lean, muscled torso gleams with a slight sheen of perspiration, his eyes, not hidden behind glasses anymore, gleaming startlingly green, his wild hair flying gently in a light breeze, a fanged earring bouncing against his jaw over the deep black lines of the tattoo that curls up from his back, reaching up the side of his neck like ebony tendrils. His jeans sit low on his hips and sports a large rip over one knee, his bare feet idly crossing over one another as he leans an elbow on the broom, muscled arms flexing inadvertently.

Harry clicks his tongue, grabbing for the magazine. "Would you put that shit away?"

"Ha!" Malfoy easily dodges him. "Some star Seeker," he mutters under his breath, continuing to peer at the cover photo.

"I could've got you if I wanted to," Harry grumbles, jostling him with a hard elbow.

"You already got me," Malfoy cheeses, leaning into him with a grin. Harry roughly grabs him around the shoulders, kissing his cheek and wrestling the magazine out of his hands, both of them laughing as they struggle standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Harry manages to wrest the offending magazine out of Malfoy's bony grasp and quickly stuffs it down the front of his t-shirt.

"I've been half-hard all day, staring at that picture," the blond murmurs suggestively, still pressed up against Harry from their sudden scuffle. Harry draws in a sharp breath and looks around quickly, nodding awkwardly to a man in a suit, hurrying by, throwing repeated, quick side-glances at them.

"Git." Harry pecks the cheekily grinning mouth and pulls him along, continuing down the sidewalk.

"Why are you limping?" Malfoy suddenly notices Harry's encumbered gait.

"Twisted my ankle during practice." Harry grimaces slightly. "Landed too hard on it."

"Didn't the medic see to it?"

"That weird green stuff never works on me," Harry complains. "I'm going to stop by the drug store and get some of the Muggle spray I used on my back last time."

Malfoy makes a face, very pointedly sneering.

"What kind of a wizard are you, Potter?" he asks disgustedly.

"The kind who was brought up by Muggles, you arrogant ponce." Harry kisses his forehead. "Trust me, these sprays work incredibly well. Next time you've strained a muscle--"

"I'm going to have to stop you right there." Malfoy holds up a finger, tilting his head. "I never have, and never will, use any of those weird Muggle 'drug store'--" He makes air quotes. "—items."

"Git. Look, here we are." Harry cuts across Malfoy's path, entering the Muggle drug store with the large, garishly flashing neon sign above it. "Well, come on then." He impatiently holds out his hand as Malfoy stands there looking mutinous. Harry wiggles his fingers, glaring.

Malfoy sighs, steps over a puddle and lets Harry pull him inside.

The Muggle behind the counter stares impassively, chin resting on one hand.

"Where can I find one of those pain relieving sprays?" Harry asks her politely, as Malfoy stares around with his lip curled, his fingers crushing Harry's.