Muggle Trash

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'Potter.'

Harry was spread out on the grass by the Great Lake, legs crossed, one lone foot dangling idly. He sighed longingly as he read the text that was held loosely in his hands, eyes wide and wondrous as he scanned the words.

He caressed her soft skin, and she moaned in delight. 'Please,' she begged, and his eyes darkened with desire …

'Potter.'

He couldn't help but imagine himself with someone who loved him. Wanted him. Couldn't help but read sappy romance novels as all around him couples roamed, blind to any horrors of reality.

'I love you,' she whispered ferociously, eyes lit with fire, with intent. 'I need you.'

Harry would be the first to admit he was no Ravenclaw, but that didn't mean that he never read. It didn't matter that he wasn't the best at school … each to his own; Hermione's genre was textbooks, his were romance novels. If Ron knew, he'd never live it down … Harry shuddered in fear and quickly delved back into the steamy scene he was currently occupied in.

He poised himself above her, and she ran her hands over the smooth, flat planes of his stomach. She drank in the sight of him naked, gleaming bronze and slick with pleasure as he –

Harry found the book suddenly ripped from his hands, and he blinked stupidly.

'Potter!' a cultured voice sneered, and he snapped his eyes upwards in dawning terror. Harry stared (drank in the sight of him) at the harsh mouth as it moved, spewing atrocities, and he arched his head up to see the other boy (poised himself above), watched in blatant fascination as the wind blew futilely at carefully gelled hair, hair which shone alabaster in the fading light (gleaming).

Draco Malfoy scowled thunderously, adopted an aristocratic stance and shook Harry's book mockingly. 'Reading, Potter? I never thought I'd see the day.'

Harry gaped (with pleasure). Finding his voice, he jumped up and quickly spat out 'Malfoy!', injecting as much disgust as he possibly could into the word.

The taller boy smirked, grey eyes glittering dangerously. 'Finally found your tongue, have you?' He shook the book. 'What is this? Potions for Dummies? 101 Ways to Impress Fan-girls? How Not to be a Moron?'

Harry lunged forward for the book, fingers outstretched desperately. Malfoy simply lifted it overhead and nimbly stepped away, and gave a lazy twirl of his wand as he went. Safely distanced from Harry, he cracked open the book.

Harry was stuck. Stuck, thanks to Malfoy's quietly uttered spell. He couldn't move his feet and his wand lay uselessly at the spot where he'd been reading.

Clearing his throat dramatically, noble nose lifted high in the air, Malfoy began (and here Harry closed his eyes in despair and resignation at the humiliation awaiting him): 'His hands skittered over her breasts,' – a single brow lifted up in shock – 'and she gave a keening moan.' Malfoy paused, watched Harry with an unidentifiable expression, and continued to read: 'Michael smiled as he pressed a kiss into her soft neck, and gasped as she threaded her hands into his hair, twining her legs around his waist.'

Harry's eyelashes fluttered open to gauge Malfoy's face. The velvet voice had stopped reading.

Draco Malfoy's mouth gaped wide, and he quickly flipped to the next page, then the one after that, eyebrows furrowing.

His skin darkening in utter mortification, Harry attempted to regain some dignity by rebutting: 'What, Malfoy? Can't read? Do the House Elves do that for you, too? Or have you never heard of sex?' he lowered his voice in false concern. 'You do know that the whole "Mr Stork" story is false, right? If you want, you can borrow my book.' Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Harry said, 'What was it again? How Not to be a Moron?'

Malfoy grinned, grey eyes flashing as lightning amongst clouds, and replied, 'No, Potter; simply surprised at both the Gryffindor Golden Boy's reading material as well as …' he let the sentence wander off teasingly.

Harry clenched his jaw. Here it comes. 'As well as what, Malfoy?' he snapped.

Malfoy strode forward and shoved his hand into Harry's mop of black hair, painfully tilting the smaller boy's head backwards. Bringing his face closer, he concluded, 'The book has it all wrong,' he sniffed. 'Muggle trash, I gather.'

Harry valiantly ignored his position (ran her hands) and spat out, 'Like you would know any better.'

Malfoy's smile widened, as if Harry had said precisely what he'd wanted to hear. 'I would,' he breathed. 'It's not supposed to be gentle,' he snarled, revealing white teeth, 'it's rough. Poor Potter, always having to learn his lesson …'

And with that, Malfoy brought his lips crashing down on Harry's, releasing the Leg-Locking Spell and casting an altogether new spell, one that had Harry gasping (as she threaded her hands into his hair, twining her legs around his waist).

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'That, Potter, is how to have sex,' Malfoy snarled against Harry's sun-kissed skin, furrowing his fingers into the boy that was pulled as close to him as possible, as if he wanted to devour him; and Harry, dazedly and altogether senseless, said, 'You're right.'

Malfoy, preening, gloated, 'Of course I am.'

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'Draco?' he asked, rolling over and pressing a kiss onto Malfoy's creamy white skin.

'Yes?' the other boy murmured, biting down on his partner's tanned shoulder.

'Why were you at the Great Lake in the first place?' Harry felt the smirk before he saw it, and his stomach roiled with desire and horror at the gesture.

'Professor Snape wanted to talk to you.'

There was the sound of only two heartbeats and the gentle lapping of water on the shore, until –

'… MALFOY!'

"Readers have the right to say whatever the fuck they want about a book. Period. They have that right." - Stacia Kane