A Malfoys MistakeBy Jinni
The Morning After
Bloody hell.
I cannot believe that it is possible to feel like. . .
This.
Ouch.
Killing and/or maiming someone for a pain relieving potion doesn't seem that far-fetched or ridiculous right about now.
How much did I drink last night and why?
Oh yes.
Potter.
It's all the boy wonder's fault.
Stupid, miserable little prat.
'I bet you can't out drink me, Draco. . .'
'I bet I can. . .'
And so it had begun, him and I, in a nightclub in Las Vegas, at a time when we should have been doing anything other than, well, drinking our arses off. It was a wizard's duel, fought with hard liquor that burned the back of my throat until; finally, I was too numb to feel anymore.
Unfortunately, the knowledge that this is all the fault of one Harry bloody Potter does little, if nothing, to ease the pain that I am feeling.
But then I feel something else, and I stop thinking of the pain for a minute and get back to that part of last night that I just cannot remember. A part that started with an equally intoxicated red head and ended with. . .
I ease one of my eyes open, snapping it shut again when I see a flash of red hair.
She's here.
In my bed.
If this is even my bed. I have doubts about that since I don't remember actually checking into a hotel at any point yesterday. Maybe this is her bed.
Well, well, well.
The Malfoy charm strikes again, it appears.
Now, I don't recall much of what happened after I met her last night, but I feel pretty naked, and that glimpse of her bare back makes me think she's pretty naked, too. So reason would say that I had a little fun with her.
Now - if only I could remember that fun. Did I use any contraceptive charms or will there be a little Malfoy in mine, and her, future? Mother would kill me. Father would roll over in his grave if he knew I slept with a Mudblood, let alone fathered a child with one.
Okay - so let's not worry about that right now.
She's moving around and I'm tempted to open my eyes and greet her, though I cannot remember her name. Not even the letter it starts with.
Merlin help me.
She's off the bed now, I can tell by the way the mattress eases up, back to its normal position, her weight gone. And I can hear her moving quietly through the room, back and forth, back and forth.
She's pacing.
Okay.
Not what I expected. Usually when one night stands sneak out of bed the next morning they actually, you know, get dressed and go. That's the joy of a one night stand - never to have to actually see the person again.
Could this day get any worse?
Guess so - she is now officially crying.
Time to wake up, it seems.
"Morning." My voice is a whisper, raw from the alcohol and partying of the night before. My eyes open in time to see her stop pacing, back towards me.
"Morning." She repeats and there is something wrong. Her voice is odd, distant.
"So. . ." I ease into a sitting position, waiting to see if she'll be courageous enough to turn around. She is, and I can't help but smirk. She's even more beautiful when I'm sober. "You are gorgeous."
She raises an eyebrow.
"And you're British or something. This day just keeps getting worse. You don't even live in the US, do you?"
Momentarily shocked, I just shake my head. Usually women flock to the accent. Well, American women anyway. Somehow the accent just doesn't work as well back home.
"This is just great. Goddess - what did I do to deserve this?!?!"
She's screaming now, and I wish I could take out my wand to put a silencing spell on the room, or her, or both. I still don't see what the problem is. We shagged, it was probably the best experience of her life, even if I can't remember it.
And, unfortunately for me, say all of that out loud.
"You want to know what the problem is?"
She's hysterical, and I can see it isn't going to get much better.
"This is the problem." She strides in all of her naked glory over to the nightstand, her side of the bed I note distractedly, and grabs a piece of paper from it, tossing it onto the bed with a flourish. "Do you see that! Do you fucking see that?!?"
Yes, I see it.
And now I know what the problem is.
We're married.
Mother is going to kill me and Father may just come back from the dead for this less than auspicious occasion.
"Married. . .?" I question, holding the evidence of just that in my hand. "We're . . ."
"Married," she finished for me, bitter eyes flickering black then back to green.
"Um - your eyes. . . ." Good boy, Draco. Don't show the fear you're feeling because you're a bigger man than that.
Right?
Right?!?
"My eyes?" She whispered, hand flying to her chest, a look of shock passing over her face. "Fuck. It's my fault for saying the day couldn't get worse. Well - we're married now so I guess I can't very well keep everything a secret from you. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that trash."
She flops onto the bed next to me, stomach down so that I can see the scratches down her back.
Oh yes, we had some serious fun last night in between getting married, it seems.
"I'm a witch." She begins with the last thing I expected to hear from her lips. "Now - before you go rushing off to commit your new bride to a funny farm - just take a second and listen to what I'm going to say, pay attention to what I do. Because, you see, it's the truth and I can prove it. . ."
My mouth is working, but no sound is coming out. I expect her to get up and get her wand, but she doesn't. Instead she starts filling the air with little bits of flashing lights with the power of her mind alone.
She's a wandless witch.
Well - my day just got better. Mum may not totally flay me alive for this.
"Shhh. . ." My finger is on her lips and she stops talking, staring at me with wide, almost frightened, eyes. When I'm sure she's going to stay quiet for the moment I scan the room and then get up, retrieving my wand from my pants pocket. "I believe you."
"You believe me?"
"Uh huh." I am the master of smooth, despite what Potter may say. "You see - I'm a wizard. Accio bouquet."
Her bridal bouquet comes snapping to may hand and I hear her startled gasp.
"Well . . . I guess that makes things. . . easier. Definitely not *easy*, though. No, not easy at all."
She's babbling.
It's cute.
My wife is cute.
Merlin.
My wife.
And her name is . . .
"Accio certificate."
Ah - there it is, Willow Rosenberg, now Willow Malfoy.
"We're married." She whispers, standing next to me to look down at the marriage certificate.
Yes, that we are.
I can only imagine what trouble this is going to bring me.
If Mother doesn't kill me first, that is.
And then the thought that makes me cringe the most, much more than the idea of being married to this completely attractive, totally bewitching witch.
Potter will never, ever let me live this down.