hpkinkfest | FIC: Recur, Rewind (NC-17)

Title: Recur, Rewind
Author:

mijeli
Prompt Number: TM7 submitted by

bonsaibetz
Kink Showcased: “polyjuice fraud” / sex while polyjuiced into another person
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Ginny, Harry/Draco
Summary: She smells herself – smells Malfoy’s scent – and wonders what his body smells like to Harry.
Warnings: infidelity, polyjuice abuse, mild violence
Word Count: ~ 1.900
Author's Notes: Here I am, writing an angsty infidelity fic, rather than the kinky threesome

bonsaibetz probably had in mind ;-) Still I hope it somewhat scratches your itch and that you enjoy – as everyone else who chooses to read! Many thanks to Angie (

flamingolady) for her beta help, and to the mods for running this delicious fest. (Mods: Is there need for a "kink: polyjuice" tag? Thanks!)

I

When Harry pushes into her arse, it knocks the breath from her lungs. She catches herself thinking, It never felt like this when we did it, and she’s shaking all over with the sensation.

As if reading her thoughts, he leans in and whispers roughly, “All loose already, are you?”

The blood is rushing to Ginny’s face and she thinks, I’m not surprised, but at the same time she’s falling out of some safe and familiar place into a wide and frightening open.

“Have you been fingering yourself,” Harry pushes on, “or have you been fucked before I got here?”

It never felt like this, he never – the thought is a racing mantra inside Ginny’s head, a crazy, spiralling top spin. They have done this before, but not like this, never like this –

“I hope you haven’t.” Harry’s voice is so impossibly deep and lusty now, he sounds like a different person. She is scared and aroused as he grips her hips hard enough to bruise.

“Because you should know you’re mine, Malfoy.”

II

The strangest thing, Ginny notices with amazement, is not the feel of cock and balls dangling between her legs, but the very alien sensation of having such long-fingered hands. She holds them out in front of her and waggles them. Her wrists – his wrists – are delicate and there is fine, blond hair on his sinewy lower arms.

As she moves the body that isn’t hers, it feels awfully elegant. How on earth is she going to remain undercover?

Ginny raises her head and looks at Draco Malfoy’s face. In the grimy mirror above the sink, it looks pallid and strained, but there is a dark fire in Malfoy’s eyes that gives her the shivers. I wonder, … she thinks, but dares not finish the thought. She already knows so much more than she bargained for.

Someone is entering the gents and Ginny reflexively bolts into a toilet stall. She almost stumbles over her long legs and large feet. The door crashes closed and she leans against it, taking a deep and shaky breath.

What if they find him?

It had been a particularly vicious Reducto leaving Draco unconscious in the stall to the far left. There he lay, behind a locked door - but for how much longer? Ginny had almost laughed out loud when covering his lifeless body with Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. How many times have you used this thing to sneak out at night? It seems safe enough for now, but she knows how powerful her husband really is.

The man outside sighs softly as he’s urinating. She does not recognise his voice; most likely, Harry and Malfoy are the only people she knows in this pub and she wouldn’t be surprised if that’s just why they come here.

A flush, then running water. After a few more seconds the steps are retreating and exiting back into the pub.

Ginny takes a deep breath. She looks down on herself, her lanky body and fine clothes: crisp white shirt, black slacks and shoes. Only the drying sweat in Malfoy’s armpits is ruining his pristine appearance. She smells herself – smells Malfoy’s scent – and wonders what his body smells like to Harry.

“Get out,” she says, then louder: “Get out.” You’ve been in here for too long. Malfoy’s voice sounds different when he feels unguarded; deeper, more aware. She unlocks the door and steps back out in front of the mirror.

“I want to know what he sees in you”, she tells herself in the dim blue light. “I want to know why my straight and loyal husband puts everything at risk to go out and fuck you, of all people.”

She feels ridiculous and exhilarated at once, telling Malfoy in his own voice. “You vile little Death Eater.”

The door bangs open again.

III

“Potter? Is that you?”

It is the best thing he could say, because he makes it so much easier for her to hex his back. She has seen them before, of course – she’d had to know. But the audacity, the presumptuousness ringing in that one word makes her anger flare up like a flash.

Levitating him would be too risky, should someone interrupt her and drop the spell, so she grabs Malfoy’s feet and starts pulling. A man on the floor might as well be a man who drank too much. He’s crashed to the floor like a wet sack of sand, hitting his head and bleeding from the temple. Time to heal that later. Ginny pulls with all her strength and it’s a good thing the Holyhead Harpies are still working her hard.

The floor is filthy and so are Malfoy’s clothes once the door is closed behind them. The stall is narrow and there’s too wide a crack between walls and tiles, but it will have to do.

With nimble fingers, Ginny takes out the little vial. It’s also a good thing her hands never shake.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” she whispers, her heart thumping darkly. “That was stupid of you, Malfoy.” She grabs a handful of his fine blond hair and a fresh wave of hate crashes over her. His hair is soft and well-groomed like the rest of him, and he’s donning elegant outfits once a week to go to this sketchy pub and fuck her husband as if he had any right.

And Harry lets him. Oh, you’ve seen the way Harry’s looking at him.

Deftly, she rips.

When her bones have stopped cracking and snapping, she takes a minute to catch her breath and wait for the pain to subside. Only afterwards she reaches into Malfoy’s trouser pocket and takes his wand. Hawthorn and Unicorn hair – so Harry has forgiven him that, too. She spells his clothing onto herself, onto her new male body, casts a quick Cleaning Charm on them as well, then puts the wand away.

One last look at Malfoy’s lifeless form, naked now, vulnerable. She wants to break his ribs or kick him so hard between the legs that he could see stars all the way across unconsciousness. Even more, she wants to Obliviate him. Wants to take back every last memory of Harry that he has.

In the end, Ginny just spits on him, casts a Petrificus Totalus and covers him with Harry’s cloak. After Malfoy’s body has vanished beneath the fabric, determination returns: As if a game of Quidditch lay ahead, Ginny unlocks the door with a tingling in her entire body, that stranger’s body, from crest to toe.

IV

They are sitting, heads bent, closely together on bar stools and talking against the noise and music. Harry is wearing his dark jeans – the ones least ratty – and that light grey t-shirt in which he looks fit like a twenty-year-old. His hair is a mess. She can see him laugh all the way from here.

Malfoy is in slacks and a white shirt, as if he’d come straight from some office. She would recognise him anywhere: that poncy posture. That bright shock of hair. Fury coils in her belly, but much more bitter is the tang of disbelief proved wrong.

She’d refused to admit it, even on her way here. Even if Harry was secretly seeing someone … how could it be him?

A broad-chested wizard bumps into her, apologises curtly and shuffles on. Ginny moves away from the door, from fists and elbows. She cannot take her eyes off them.

Malfoy puts his hand on Harry’s knee. The gesture is small, but possessive: as if in this space, Harry was his, and he was Harry’s. Harry leans away only to give him a rude once-over and a dirty smile that implies a million things. Ginny’s heart is hammering a raging, breathless beat. After everything?

The drinks between them are empty, have been for a while. They’re not ordering anything else.

“Excuse me,” someone says and Ginny looks up. It is just a serving witch though, Levitating a tray laden with glasses through the crowd.

When Ginny’s eyes snap back to the bar, they’re gone.

V

“I am yours,” she sobs, “I am. Potter. Please — please touch me.”

Harry is growling against the skin of her neck, her throat. He is biting and mouthing nonsensical words while his cock is buried balls-deep in her arse. Bolts of lightning are flashing behind her eyes whenever he pushes up, up, he knows just where. Has studied that body she is wearing like a costume; who knows for how long. Ginny gasps as her orgasm is building in her loins.

“Touch me,” she repeats hoarsely. The strange voice carries through the empty alley. She tries to see herself, see Malfoy pressed against the wall and his mouth dropped open in ecstasy, but she can’t.

Harry wraps his hand around her cock and squeezes so hard she almost doubles over. “Yes,” he growls, “yes. I want you to come for me, Malfoy. I want your spunk all over my hand.” He pulls the foreskin down and up and down, twirls it hard between his fingers. The speed of his thrusts increases. “Oh, fuck. Malfoy.”

In that alley was where she’d first seen them. It had been an anonymous hint, delivered by an owl she didn’t know and hadn’t seen since. Purely on a whim she’d followed it one night when Harry got out of bed again.

She knew of his nightmares. She never questioned his walks in the dark.

“You’re mine,” Harry says again, thrusting even harder, “and I’m going to come inside you so everyone can see.”

“Do it,” Ginny whispers. Her heart is fluttering in her chest, throat, in her crotch. She is so hard and aching now, and every beat closer to release is a beat closer to mayhem.

They hadn’t been fucking when she found them, but kissing. It was the kind of kiss you don’t forget in a lifetime. A kiss more intimate than sex. Why him, she’d asked the mirror back home. Their bed had gone cold. If you had to do it, why him.

Harry pushes her over the edge, slamming her body into the wall; but it hardly hurts because this is Malfoy’s body and who knows how many times they’ve done this. Ginny comes, but really it is Malfoy coming. And she knows why it’s him; maybe always knew and always feared it.

It must be a minute or two passing in which they are both merely panting in the darkness. The door to the pub opens and closes, voices drifting by, but no one comes their way. Ginny absently wonders why no one else has claimed this alley yet. Her mind is a blur of colours and flashing lights. She feels her husband’s semen drying on her thighs and arsehole and for a brief and crazed moment she wants to tell him everything.

Harry, however, makes the next move. Doesn’t he always? He flips her around, not gently, but not at all as roughly as he fucked her.

They are looking at each other – Ginny has never looked down at Harry before, not like this, and she feels want and power and loss.

“Malfoy,” Harry says in a strange voice, “I never knew you had freckles.” He touches the side of her face, frowning. She knows that look when he is trying to figure something out. Wonders whether he will.

~ + ~