Slave

Slave

She had enslaved him without even knowing it. His daily routine had completely changed since that one, fateful day, all because of her, because of what he'd discovered.

It had been early November in his sixth year. Draco could still recall it as if it had been yesterday. The sky had been a stormy grey that morning, almost the exact same colour his eyes would turn whenever he watched her.

The porridge had been something awful, and so he had only grabbed an apple and gone off to do other, more important things. Class. Break. Lunch. Class. Dinner. In retrospect, that part of the day would pass in a blur, only coming to a halt the moment he had stumbled upon one of the Gryffindor oafs in his year and his girlfriend that was looking none too happy. The encounter that would not change his life.

"Look, I'm not yet ready for that, Dean," he'd heard her say, and rolled his eyes. A virgin, how sweet. He'd proceeded to take 10 points away from Gryffindor for them loitering the hallways and had started his evening rounds.

It was there that he'd been attacked by Peeves who was mercilessly throwing water bombs in every which direction. After some growling, Draco had managed to get rid of the cackling Poltergeist, finished his rounds and made his way to the Prefect's bathroom. He'd never taken a shower that late at night, but he'd had to make an exception that night, as he had been shivering mercilessly with cold.

Draco had made his way to the prefect's bathroom in less than five minutes, managing to make his long strides look somewhat defiant. After muttering the password and watching the portrait close behind him, Draco had furrowed his brows. Something was not right.

It had smelled... nice. He'd nearly screamed when he heard a splashing sound from somewhere to his left. He'd asked himself who might stay up so late at night only to take a bath and proceeded to take a glance around the corner.

It had been the glance that had changed his life. The sight that he'd drunken in that night had been the sight that would haunt his dreams, his every waking moment until he'd decided to take a chance and look whether he might see it again. And again. And again. And he had.

He knew her routine by now, and had adjusted his routines to hers. He was always careful not to alert her to his presence, tiptoeing out of the prefect's bathroom when he knew she was close to leaving. What he wouldn't give to have an invisibility cloak sometimes, just to get nearer, to watcher her from a different angle once.

Sometimes he reckoned that she wouldn't notice him anyway, as she was too entranced in relaxing away among big bubbles of different colours. It was those moments that made him wish he were a bubble, just so he could touch her, even if it meant that he was in great danger of bursting immediately after.

Everything was better than being chained to the wall that was her with a chain that was her too. And still he would never try anything, never approach her, because he couldn't. He was Draco Malfoy, and she was lowly Ginny Weasley. And surprisingly, he didn't care, couldn't care. He was never able to look away on those occasions. It was as if she had him under some spell, even though he knew that she could not have him under some spell, because she would not want to. Not that kind of spell.

And it was getting worse. At first he had only taken to watch her bathe in all her naked glory at night, sometimes relaxing in the obvious heat of the pool-sized bathtub, sometimes splashing around in the water, dancing like one dances when one thinks no-one is watching. He had feasted in the sight she presented, her crimson hair fanning out around her head like some strange sort of halo when the water reached to her chin.

He would watch every part of her. Of course Draco was aware that there was some strange sort of sexual appeal to it, but oddly enough, that was not everything. Her flushed cheeks or her delicate fingers would fascinate him just as much as her small, round breasts with the rosy, pink nipples did.

He had never seen a pallor like hers. His own skin was pale, yes, but hers was pale yet alluring on an entirely different level, and set off even more by the freckles that surprisingly didn't cover her everywhere: they were only on her cheeks, nose, shoulders and the top parts of her upper arms. The rest of her was so very pale, but when she would rise out of the tub her feet, cheeks and backside would almost glow red. Any other person he would have likened to a lobster, but her he didn't.

Instead, he would take a last, longing glance and take off to the seclusion of his room, trying to collect his thoughts, willing himself not to come back the next day, knowing that it was of no use. He never listed to anybody, himself included.

That was how it had started. But with time, his urge to see her and be near her increased. He took to following her around in the shadows anywhere she went. He even found out the Gryffindor password by doing so, but he was so entranced in stilling his craving for her vicinity that he did not even think of using it for some sort of prank on Potter and his friends. She was a friend of Potter's, somehow, although she did not spend time with the freaky trio.

It was a night when her boyfriend, Thomas, tried to make her sleep with him again that he actually gave in to his urge and approached her, albeit in a way that would have made the hero in even the trashiest romance novel cringe: he had taken points away from the boy for some or other reason, effectively preventing her from having to give an answer for the time being.

He knew that this did not satisfy his needs, and that it did not exactly endear her to him - but that was not what he wanted anyway. He would never touch her, never get what Thomas was bound to get sooner than later. And he didn't want to. All he wanted was one-sided. She did never participate in the fantasies he had even later at night, when she was back in the security of her own bed. She would never move when he imagined himself touching her, running his hands over her body lightly.

In his mind, her skin was smooth and silky, just like his bed sheets. He would close his eyes, trailing the soft material with his fingertips, imagining it was her. Sometimes it would be her legs that he would explore, sometimes her arms, her face, her hips, her belly, her breasts, her neck, her back, her everything.

He would listen to her imaginary breaths, soft and shallow, and it would calm him. He would stare into her soft, chocolate brown eyes endlessly and lose himself in them. Naturally, Draco never told anybody about this. She was his guilty pleasure, his secret. Everything about her would lose its magic should anybody else ever know, be it his father, his fellow Slytherins or herself.

She lived her life not knowing what she was doing to him, not even aware she was pulling at his chains whenever he would see her making out with her boyfriend in deserted hallways. Because in his mind, nobody deserved to touch a body so pure as hers, not even if they wanted her to. She was his to watch and she was his to touch, in his mind.

Draco went on like that, following her around without anyone ever noticing, living from one secret encounter to the next, watching as her hair grew longer, her breasts grew to be fuller, as she danced and sang in the tub.

But as the day of his graduation approached he was getting more restless with every second ticking by and he started doing research, reading one ancient tome after the other and a plan began forming in his mind, a plan that he put into action on the last day of school before going home in his seventh year.

He had approached her that night, as she was reclining in the tub. She had screamed at first, and had tried to struggle as he pushed her head under water, but it had been to no avail, as he was much stronger than she was. After some time she stopped struggling and her beautiful form went still and lay in the water lifelessly. He had carefully maneuvered her out of the water and had managed to float her to her room without anyone noticing, which was only mildly surprising, as it was his patrol time.

He had cast the preserving spells on her that he'd found in the books about ancient Egyptian magic, and put her in the largest of his many trunks, careful to drape her in lots of soft tissue so her perfection would not get marred on the journey home.

When he had arrived at the manor that day he'd locked himself in his room with his luggage and carefully carried her to his large bed, laying her still form on one side of the soft mattress.

And there she stayed, for him to touch, for him to watch her any time he wanted to. His father had found her there one day, and asked Draco what everything was about. He had seemed slightly concerned about his son, but shrugged everything off. He never made a move to remove her.

And despite turning almost every rock in Britain to find their little baby girl, her family never made a move to search for her in the one place that she was.

She was his now, and he was her slave, for eternity.