A Malfoys MistakeBy Jinni
Unreceptive Reception : Scorned
Draco was supposed to be mine.
Really, he was.
There were contracts signed, agreements made and deals forged all before we were born.
Draco Augustus Malfoy was to wed Pansy Terese Parkinson.
On our eighteenth birthdays, or thereabouts.
I dreamt about it for as long as I could remember. The colors for the wedding would have been silver and dark blue. Like stars in the evening sky. By the time we were sixteen I had chosen the florist, the caterer, and had already written up my half of the guest list.
There was nothing, in my mind, that could stop the event from happening. My father and mother assured me of as much.
We grew up knowing we would, one day, marry each other. It wasn't that either of us really wanted it, mind you. But we had powerful families and a merging of those families would create a strong base of power for the Dark Lord to pull from. We were shoved together, forced together. We had no choice. He hated it, but I dealt with it all by just throwing myself into it. Making the plans, playing the doting girlfriend - the betrothed that was ever by his side.
Is it any surprise that my little Drakey-poo ran right to the Ministry and had all of our marriage contracts voided the second the Dark Lord was defeated? The magical agreements were made null and void due to our parents' dabblings with the Dark Arts. We would get to make our own choices.
But I still chose Draco.
And Draco didn't choose me.
I'm not his type. I know that. No one needs to tell me that I'm not pretty enough or powerful enough for Draco Malfoy. I grew up my whole life being told how lucky I was to have those contracts to bind him to me.
But now I don't even have those.
I held out hope. . . hope that he would see that I did love him and feel something for me. . . maybe even love. After all, we were 'together' for a long time. Surely that length of time had to breed at least a familiarity that he would miss after some time apart.
That was a silly hope, though. He reveled in being away from me, not having to hear my wedding plans and schemes. There were the obligatory owls and house calls, of course. We are friends, still. But it wasn't the same.
It could never be the same again.
I even entertained the idea of slipping him a love potion - I was slowly working up the nerve to just take him for myself one way or another.
Then I got the invitation.
"We cordially invite you to the reception in honor of the marriage of Draco and Willow Malfoy. Please join us all in celebrating this happy occaision." I mutter the words under my breath, taking another swallow of the ever-bubbly champagne in my hand. Maybe the alcohol will help dull the pain.
It doesn't.
Draco is married! I'm at his reception! He has yet to make an appearance - and I can guess why. Rumor has it he's upstairs with his wife. . . getting ready.
Sure they are.
I know its sick, but I can imagine exactly what they're doing right now and I don't think it has anything to do with putting clothes *on*. More like taking clothes off and getting very dirty and sweaty. Draco was always a monster in the bedroom - and I doubt that's changed. I can still remember the way his body felt when he would -
Best not to think about that. Not when *she* has him and I don't. I will never get to feel that body over me again.
Why her, though?
She's an American muggle-born witch; and rumor has it that she's *that* American muggle-born witch. You know - the one that tried to destroy the world? I've heard that she's rather lovely, with Weasley-red hair and emerald green eyes. Pale and thin. Athletic. She has the Slayer here as one of her guests. She's pretty and popular, powerful and . . . definitely Draco's type.
Bloody hell.
There they are.
He looks. . . handsome. Sexy. Deadly. There are no words to aptly describe the way Draco Malfoy looks when he's trying to make an entrance. The tunic he's wearing over black slacks is an emerald green, trimmed in silver. Even after all this time, with the Dark Lord gone and his own family torn apart, Draco still clings to that Slytherin pride.
In his hand is. . . hers. A ring glitters on her finger - the Malfoy family crest I know without ever seeing it up close. I gazed on that ring many a long day, fantasizing the day that it would finally be mine - and now it never will be. She's wearing a dress that compliments his tunic. A green sheath, reaching to the floor. She has silver adornments at her wrist and throat. They look ---
Too perfect.
Not like bookends, nothing so gaudy. But like two people who have somehow met their other half and have realized it.
It's sickening.
Would I ever have looked like that standing next to him?
Would I have made as good of a little show piece?
I don't think I would have.
My hair never shimmers like that - never looks that silky. I'm a little bit pouchy in the middle, in places where's she's flat and beautiful. And my face. . .
Needless to say, I know all about my inadequacies in the looks department. I was teased and taunted about it through school. The other Slytherin girls were much prettier - except for Millicent. But even she had a charm that I didn't. I was the ugly duckling of the group, and there were no spells or charms to fix it.
But I had Draco - so at least I had something. No matter what he was mine. There were documents in my family's vault saying so.
And then he went and ruined it all.
They're making their way through the room now, and I try to hate her but can't. Maybe its because she's innocent of all of this. Perhaps I've grown up since those days when I would hex anyone who even looked at Draco.
Or maybe its just because he looks happy. For the first time in years, he just looks happy. The weight of the world may or may not still be on his shoulders, but now he has her to help him get through it. And the look on his face says that's all that matters. There's something else about them, a glow of radiant happiness that I just can't place. It's that look that I've seen on -
Oh dear.
Merlin, how could you be so cruel?
Not only must I meet the wife of the man I was supposed to marry - but must I meet the mother of his future child?
This is the most horrendous turn that Fate has ever dealt me. Even more awful than when Draco initially dissolved the marriage I had looked forward to for all of my young life. She's pregnant. I could cast a charm to double check but there's no need. They say that pregnant women glow, and that's the truth in the muggle and wizarding worlds. All women are, apparently, the same on the inside. She looks radiant and Draco looks positively thrilled, if not a little wary. Not that I blame him - there are former Death Eaters mingling with Muggle friends of his wife. A fight could break out at any moment.
But maybe a fight is what this night needs, as long as no one gets hurt. Something to break up the festivities before they even start. To send everyone running back to their homes and inns.
I won't be the one to start it, though.
Let them be happy while they can.
Before something crushes their dreams - just like Draco crushed mine.