Time and Time Again

- SuishouTenshi

Summary: Harry is getting married tomorrow. Draco punishes him tonight. A Malfoy in love is a possessive Malfoy.

He’s here, dressed still in that pigeon tail muggle tuxedo, raven hair tamed by no doubt Granger’s newly discovered spell, round glasses repaired anew after a day of working out in the harsh field. I bet they still can’t believe that his superiors made him work, today of all days. Of course, he has always been Shaklebolt’s favorite, and the man has given him a week off. But we weren’t going to let them know.

No, he wasn’t working today, he was with me. Yesterday, he was with me. The day before, he was with me. Me, me, me, always me. But tomorrow, it won’t be me. Tomorrow, he won’t be walking down that aisle with me. No, not me, never me.

I thought he wasn’t going to show up tonight. I’ve waited in our usual room, but I haven’t expected him to come.

The clock chimes eleven times, and he raps four times on the door before whispering, “Alohamora”.

The oak door swings forward with an ear-splitting squeak. His shadowy figure cringes visibly from the noise, but I remain still at my seat upon the windowsill. I wait until he comes to me.

“Draco...”

How dare he whisper my name so sensually, so needy, as if he actually wants me, as if he still craves me! But I still surrender. My name is his, my heart is his, my soul is his.

“Look at me, Draco...”

His wish is my command. I lift my head and stare into those gems that he calls eyes. He actually looks forlorn! Can you believe the nerve!

“Dra...”

“Had a nice rehearsal dinner, Potter?”

What? What does he expect me to say? He spent last night and the whole day with me, in bed, and left at six o’clock for his wedding rehearsal dinner. Five hours later, he’s back here again, probably expecting sex when tomorrow, he is going to walk down the aisle of matrimony with Ginerva Fucking Weasley.

What am I supposed to say?

“Draco, don’t start.”

Oh, how precious!

“You started this, Potter!” I jump off the windowsill and push him backwards, advancing on him. He backs away in a manner that is very unlike the hero that he’s supposed to be. “You were the one who was afraid to come out of the closet. You were the one who didn’t want to ‘disappoint’ his damn friends. You were the one who proposed to Ginerva Fucking Weasley. You were the one who asked to break it off with me when you left five fucking hours ago. Why did you come back, Potter, why!”

I’m shouting, and Harry is cowering away. It is then that I realize perhaps I need glasses too, for my eyes are becoming unusually foggy... and wet.

He lifts a gentle hand to caress my face, but I flinch away. I can’t let him touch me, not now, not when I’m trying to remain upset with him.

“Draco, I came to apologize. I didn’t want to leave it like that between us. Come to the celebration tomorrow, as my guest. Please...”

I gave up my name for him, my fortune, my pride, my family, my future, all for him. And this is what he gives me, a VIP ticket to the wedding of the century!

Well, screw you, Potter. I am not going to give you up after years of sneaking around, after years of waking up with you in my arms. No one will come close to you. Have you any idea what you’ve done to me? After you, how can I accept anyone else?!

Screw you too, Weasley. You’ll never have him, do you hear me? You’ll never have Harry’s heart, his soul, and definitely not his body. No, he’s mine, every essence of him belongs to me. Me and me only. Twenty-four hours later, when he takes you for the first time, he won’t be seeing you in his eyes. No, it will be me that he thinks of. I’ll make sure of that.

You’ll never have him; you’ll never have what was rightfully mine.

Mine!

With an animalistic growl, I push the man in front of me down to the bed that we’ve shared for the last five years. He falls with a surprised gasp.

He tries to struggle, and usually, he would win too. But not today. Today, I am taking charge. Today, his larger stature won’t help him. Of course, he gives up the fight as soon as my lips slam down upon his. That is expected, Harry has always been a push-over.

I taste him for the billionth time. His familiar sweet lips press into mine, melting, moaning, accepting. He tastes like expensive champagne, hors d'oeuvres, and a woman’s perfume.

I bite down hard on his lips, enough to draw blood and a loud gasp of pain. There is nothing sensual about that. It’s all pain, all blood, for all the times that I woke up alone in the morning while he publicly courted girl-weasel.

I want the taste of Ginny Weasley gone from my Harry, so I thrust in my tongue, reclaim the crevices within, and mark every spot as my own.

He surrenders completely, gives in to this tortuous loving. Sweet moans of ecstasy chime like a grand symphony to my ears, sounds that I’m sure he’ll never sing for the girl that he is to marry the morning after. Everything about him is mine.

Not breaking contact, I tear his tux to pieces, not caring that I have just destroyed a perfectly fine article of clothing. He doesn’t protest either; for he is too busy trying to get the jumper over my head.

But then I freeze.

There it is, that cold metal band that brands his fourth finger. It brushes against my bare back slightly, but enough to burn. I quickly break away from the kiss to grab his hand.

Harry watches in mild horror as I pull the cursed engagement ring off his finger and throw it against the wall.

“Hey, that...”

I don’t allow him to finish his sentence, for I am on him again, tasting, biting, sucking, claiming, tearing. But not loving, no, not loving, not tonight. Today is all about pain. I want to hurt him.

He fights back again, his conscience once again getting the better of him. I will have none of that. He pushes against my chest, and I pin his arms above his head. He kicks me on the knee, and I squeeze his legs tight between mine. He wiggles his hip, and I thrust down against him.

And then, he protests no more.

What follows is three hours of angry sex. It isn’t love-making, because I don’t love him very much at that moment. I use no lubricants, no spells. I thrust into him again and again, until he comes with tears in his eyes. Even then, I bruise him, adding pleasure to pain. The sad thing is, I know he likes it.

I make sure that he screams my name, time and time again. I make sure to erase all thoughts of his future wife, the one that I loath, the girl that he isn’t meant to be with. I make sure that as he walks down the aisle hours later, he will move with pain, and the pain will remind him whom he belongs to. I make sure that as he pushes into Ginny Weasley, the sight of her blood will remind him the crimson liquid that I draw from his lips. I make sure that he’ll regret ever letting me go, regret presenting that damned ring to her.

“Draco!” he screams, and I know he is mine, now and forever.

I do not stay. After he collapses, I grab my clothes and leave. I’m not going to hold him, nor be held by him. I’m not going to kiss him gently and comfort him from the nightmares of the past. Not this time.

But I know I am going to show up at his wedding seven hours later, to remind him once more the consequences of his actions. I am going to taunt Ginny Weasley in her face, tell her whom Harry truly loves. I am going to have him. Let Weasley weep, let her heart die a widow when her husband is still alive and well. She never should’ve taken what is mine.

Damn you, Harry Potter, damn you to hell.

---

Silky wedding dress, white drape, and glistering crystal sandals. I stand high upon a stool while Hermione and Pansy fuss over me. Angelina, Katie, Penelope and Fleur chat excitedly by the makeup counter, arguing over which shade of lipstick fits me best.

And I stand, stiff and aloof, wearing an equally emotionless smile. I’ve been like that for the past hour.

I am getting married today, did you hear? I am getting married to Harry James Potter, savior of the wizarding world, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort. Presents pile up like mountains, gifts from all over the world, from people I’ve never even heard of before. I’m every girl’s envy.

Oh, if only they knew the truth.

They don’t see the empty kisses Harry and I share in the company of others. They never see the half-meaning pecks on the lips that he gives me when we are alone. They are not passionate, never passionate, not from Harry.

Everyone expected me to be happy when Harry proposed four months ago. And I was happy, albeit very confused. I saw things, things that I’d rather forget, things that I interpreted too deeply into.

But it’s not just me, you see. My sister-in-laws see it too, all six of them. They are pretending to be excited for my sake, but I can see the sadness and pity in their eyes.

Angelina and Katie haven’t looked at me in the eyes since they arrived this morning. Penelope and Hermione are still sharing worried glances. Fleur, the newest inductee into our family, sees it too, and is constantly mumbling French to no one in particular. Pansy, Charlie’s wife, the one who knows him best, the one who understands the situation best, hasn’t stopped frowning. She knows...and I wish she’d tell me, erase my suspicions, and let me make my decision without any further hesitation.

A gentle knock sounds at the door, and Neville enters a second after. Neville, reliable Neville. I bet he knows it too, for he gave me the saddest look last night during rehearsal dinner. Luna is a lucky woman to have married someone who would love her so much.

“Gin... Malfoy wants to give you his congratulations... in private.”

Six heads snap around to look at me in fascination and fear. I inhale calmly and hold my head up high. I am the seventh child of the seventh son, the only Weasley girl to be born in generations; I am not going to cower before Draco Malfoy.

“I’ll speak with him.”

The girls take the cue immediately and leave without protest. Neville sends me a contemplative look but lets Malfoy in anyway. Then he closes the door and leaves me alone in the company of... Just what is he, anyway?

He looks shorter from this perspective, probably because I am still standing on the high stool. But he seems intimidating nonetheless. Long, silvery-blond hair that can rival a veela’s hangs loose below his slim shoulders. High cheekbones support those startling mercury eyes. With his head at a tilt, he looks as if he is judging me.

“Nice dress, Gin.”

He mocks me! I say nothing, and his feral grin widens.

“I just saw Harry outside. He’s all ready. He looks incredible in that tuxedo, so gorgeous, simply ravishing.”

Does he really think that I don’t know what he is hinting at? Does he really think so little of my intelligence? It’s not everyday that a Malfoy abandons his family to fight on the side of muggle-lovers. But this Malfoy did it five years ago. He shed his Malfoy name and fought earnestly by Harry’s side.

Does he think that we do not notice their interactions? The looks they share when they think no one’s looking?

And now he’s here, taunting me, torturing me. But still, I say nothing.

“You’re a really lucky girl, Gin. I bet millions of people want to get into Harry’s pants. I think he’d be incredible in bed, don’t you? Guess you’ll find out tonight. Oh hey, maybe this will help you: He has a really sensitive spot below his right ear. Bite it, and he’ll give you the most beautiful moan you’ll ever hear.”

Like a preying panther, he stalks forward with a velvet black box in his right hand. Taking my now numb fingers, he gently places the box onto my palm. He wraps my fingers around the object and plants a sarcastic kiss onto my ring finger.

“Give this back to Harry for me, will you? He left it in my place this morning. I guess he was in a rush to come here. Can’t blame the bloke; he is getting married.”

With a billow of his cape, he exits. I don’t need to open the box to see what is inside.

I must write to thank Malfoy one day. He has just helped me make the right decision, the most important decision of my life. I quickly change back into my everyday attire. With a kiss of love to Harry’s shocked countenance, I run out the wedding tent.

Harry, love, you’re not mine.

End