“I don’t think they work,” James declared, staring at the images that didn’t move. The colours were admittedly pretty, but he didn’t think it made much sense. “They only have two wheels and are heavier than a bicycle.”
“I already told you, they move anyway, and really fast—faster than the best broomstick! Taylor, you know, the odd one in fourth-year Ravenclaw, was talking to Davies, the guy who gets me cigarettes. They were talking about Davies’ older brother’s motorbike. Apparently, he rides it really fast in competitions…” Sirius explained, holding the magazine in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“I’ve seen them; they’re noisy…” Remus commented, standing a bit further away, trying to avoid the acrid cloud surrounding his friends. He had never been particularly fond of the smell of cigarettes.
“So, can they really move around? Wow! Like metal horses…” Peter said, half-reading the article in front of him, which discussed a new model.
Not long ago, Sirius had picked up the bad habit of smoking. He’d spoken to a couple of fifth-years who smoked by the edge of the Black Lake. At first, he thought it was rolled tobacco; he’d seen his Uncle Alphard use a spell to wrap tobacco in fine paper instead of smoking it in a pipe. But soon he discovered that these cigarettes were muggle-made, produced by some kind of machinery he didn’t understand. After trying one, the boys told him about a seventh-year Hufflepuff who sold them loose or by the pack. That’s how Sirius ended up finding Philip Davies’ small smuggling network.
Davies was a muggle-born who smuggled cigarettes, comics, magazines, and any other Muggle trinket he thought could sell well among witches and wizards. That afternoon, after overhearing the conversation, Sirius had bought a pack of Embassy cigarettes and a magazine about motorbikes.
Now, the four of them were huddled behind the boathouse on the edge of the Black Lake, leafing through the magazine. They’d been flipping through it for a few minutes, mostly looking at the pictures. Sirius turned the page.
“Bloody hell!” James almost shouted.
In the middle of the magazine was a large fold-out image. It showed a red motorbike and a blonde woman beside it, wearing the smallest outfit they’d ever seen...
“Hell... It’s one of those magazines…” Remus said, quickly moving closer to see what had startled James. He blushed a little, though nothing compared to Peter, whose face had turned entirely red.
“I-I’ve never... never seen above the calves before…” Peter admitted, his wide blue eyes fixed on the picture in detail.
“I’ve never seen clothes like that…” James said. “This is way beyond that photo from before…”
“Fuck, James, I don’t think this even counts as clothes. And of course, it’s more than that photo, so much more…” Sirius grinned, the cigarette hanging from his lips.
The photo they were talking about had passed from hand to hand among all the boys in the Gryffindor Tower and had eventually ended up in James’ drawer. It was a small picture, palm-sized, showing a brunette witch in underwear, slowly pulling up her stockings and smiling at the camera. It was the only real erotic image of a woman they had seen so far. They’d found it charmingly scandalous: the witch wore only a nightgown, corset, and bloomers. Apart from that photo, they only had a few explicit drawings, but they weren’t the same at all—not real.
But now, before them, was a picture of a muggle girl showing more skin than they’d ever seen.
“It’s just a bikini. Muggle girls wear them at the beach or public pools…” Remus said, though the blush on his cheeks hadn’t faded.
Up until now, the whole business with the photo and the drawings had seemed amusing to Remus. He’d seen muggle girls before; he’d seen shorts and miniskirts. The pure-blood obsession with women’s legs struck him as absurd and naive. When they showed him the photo of the witch in a corset, he had only snorted, sure that magical fashion was at least 100 years behind muggle trends.
“They go out in public like that!?” James’ face had darkened at the thought.
“Yes, it’s normal for muggles... I went to the beach two years ago with my parents and my mum’s family. I told you about it, didn’t I?”
During that trip, his father had worn a striped swimming costume and bought him one to match. He’d been mortified when he saw his wife’s one-piece bathing suit and even more so when he first saw his in-laws’ bikinis. He’d nearly had an aneurysm when they arrived at a beach packed with boys and girls in “tiny clothes.” Remus had also struggled that day. Though he handled it much better than his father, his cousins teased him relentlessly about his swimwear, which was apparently very outdated.
“Mate, you never said the girls were dressed like that…” Sirius teased, and Remus only rolled his eyes.
“Bloody hell, now I want to go to the beach,” James sighed.
“Do all muggle magazines have these... these kinds of pictures?” Peter asked, his voice finally returning, though his face was still burning.
“No,” Remus replied with a frown. He’d never really questioned the posters before. “Hmm... This is a men’s magazine... That’s why they put pictures like this, to attract men’s attention or something.”
“Well, they’ve done their job... Merlin sucking on Morgana’s tits, this’ll drive my mother mad…” Sirius grinned like a lunatic at the photograph, already imagining Walburga Black’s horrifying reaction to such a scandalous muggle image.
“It’d give my mum a fit too…” James added.
“Actually, I think that’s universal. No matter how muggle she is, my mum would tear it off the wall and throw it into the fireplace,” Remus assured.