Storyline D: Dr/Gin

Title: Eternally Tainted

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me but the plot/storyline.

Rating: R (WARNING: Dark/disturbing imagery & language, violence, sexuality)

Summary: Draco Malfoy lives in a world where Harry Potter never existed, and the Dark Lord is at his peak. When a young female slave stumbles into his life, Draco Malfoy will never be the same.

Pairings: DM/GW

OoO

A/N: Pairing appears in upcoming chapter, this chapter's purpose is to give a solid, extensive look at our main character and the world he lives in.

OoO

She had a dark tangled mess of long, bushy hair. Her face was shadowed and hollow with resignation, but she still managed to possess a quiet beauty. She was tall, with a scrawny figure. She kept her head bowed towards the ground, but sporadically flicked her eyes upwards in an attempt to view her potential buyer. She trembled from head to toe as two men surveyed her.

Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized her figure. He did not like what he saw. "No, this one's defective," he wrinkled his nose.

The slave-master grimaced, "But young master Malfoy, she is the finest we've received in over a month! Men are battling over the price. She is top quality! Some even say she may be pureblood. She's worth quite a pretty penny."

Draco looked into the gruff older man's face. For all his years, the man had not seemed to age a bit since Draco had met him as a small boy ten years ago. Slave-master Pucey was Draco's schoolmate Adrian's father. He was the highest paid and respected slave merchant in all of Britain. Men were lucky to buy a slave of his stock, as they were usually the healthiest and strongest. Little was known about his sources, but clearly he had ins and allies in all the right places.

"There is no deal," Draco said with finality, eyeing the pretty-faced girl one last time. "I need a slave with more life in them; they need to be able to withstand the… purposes I need them to fulfill."

Master Pucey heaved an exasperated sigh, "Very well. I'd be hard put to say I've ever had a disappointed customer before."

"Maybe you should be more careful where you get your stock then," Draco snapped haughtily, a grin broadening across his face. "You wouldn't want your reputation ruined now, would you?"

The man eyed Draco carefully before leaning in so close that the boy could barely hear him speak. "I may yet have a deal for you that you'd be unable to resist. Return to my trade-post in two weeks time and you won't be disappointed. Don't speak of this to anyone; I have a surprise for just your eyes."

Draco eyed the slave-master suspiciously as he reached out his hand. Draco took it and shook, nodding slowly. "I'll return and it better be worth it. Don't let me down, Pucey."

The man gave a small smile, "Of course not young master Malfoy. Give my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, sir."

Draco nodded and returned to the horse-drawn coach that waited for him. His personal servant and body guard, Algar, scrambled to pull down the step-ladder. "Sir, you've returned alone," his surprised voice rolled out from his oversized hood.

"Pucey failed to fulfill my needs," Draco's quiet voice floated down to Algar, who patiently watched the blonde's lithe form rise up the stepladder gently. As soon as Draco entered the luxurious cabin, Algar hastily locked the ladder back into place and apparated to his seat beside Draco.

"She was actually quite pretty," Draco mused, twiddling his wand between his thumbs. "But no, she won't do. I need a hardy slave, one that won't die within a week. I don't want to have to keep wasting money on new slaves all the time. I have better things to do than revisit that smelly old shack every few weeks."

Beside Draco, Algar nodded silently. It came as no shock that the young man beside him cared little for the well-being of a slave.

After all, a slave was not a person; slaves were purely for the benefit, comfort, and assistance to their masters. Draco knew that most slaves performed menial duties. More like servants, really. In Draco's opinion, the whole situation was bullocks. He believed that slaves were nothing less than a utensil to fulfill a wizard's needs. Some men acknowledged the humanity of their slaves. Draco snorted at such weakness. All slaves were either muggles, mud-bloods, or half-bloods. They didn't deserve to breathe unless it was meant to benefit their rightful owners, purebloods.

Slaves. Dirty-blooded scum.

Draco smirked as he remembered his first slave. He was nine, and his mother bought one for his birthday present. It was a rather ugly young girl who couldn't have been much older than he. She appeared to fulfill her role quite well, until Draco requested her to let him borrow one of her arms because he'd injured his. Draco didn't understand why she cried and screamed, trying to run away from him. He'd cornered her and did his very best to get his way. What a mess that turned out to be. His mother spent two whole hours trying to scrub her dirty blood from his bedroom floor. The girl was then deemed useless and disposed of. It mattered not to Draco, who received a new slave just a few months later once his mother decided he could be trusted not to maim or kill another one.

"You won't get another one if you damage this one," Narcissa scolded him in her usual cold, bored tone. "It's a chore having to clean up the messes you make. And how do you expect to get use out of one if you keep ruining them?"

Draco was obedient, for a few years. He secretly itched to perform experiments on them and use them in any way he saw fit. It wasn't right that he had to have boundaries. What rubbish! Draco didn't need boundaries. He wasn't a baby, he could handle himself. Regardless, eventually Draco grew older and got bored with his childish impulses.

As soon as he turned sixteen, Draco was inducted into the Death-eaters inner circle, much to the pride of his father, Lucius. Lucius was itching to earn his station at the Dark Lord's side. It had been fifteen years since the fall of the Ministry of Magic and what was left of Dumbledore's infamous Order of the Phoenix. With the best and most powerful aurors out of the way, the Light side fell into disarray and panic.

Lucius often told Draco bedtime stories about the glorious uprising of the Dark Lord. Draco couldn't imagine, no- he feared, a world in which muggles and dirty blooded scum ran freely. Imagine the chaos, the disorder, the world would be in?

Draco shivered involuntarily. Algar's bored sigh snapped him from his reverie. Draco's eyes caught the landscape through the thick glass window at his side. They were nearly at the manor gates. Had he really zoned out for that long? His father would be royally pissed that Draco was returning empty handed.

Lucius' most recent lecture echoed in Draco's head. "You need a slave, boy and you need to learn how to handle owning one. Now that you're turning up to be one of our Lord's finest, you need to learn how to maintain and utilize your subordinates. If you can't keep a slave under your control, never mind alive for more than a month, how can you expect to be respected by your enemies, or your inferiors?"

Draco had failed to find a slave. Draco winced involuntarily at the brief memory of what happened when he failed at anything. He could still feel the tight sensation in his shoulder from last time Lucius punished him. He was lucky it was only the lash last time. The cat-o-nine-tails was the worse thing he'd ever had the misfortune of dealing with.

Fortunately for Draco, he'd learned how to turn his expressions and emotions on and off like a switch. To survive, and be regarded highly, one needed to remain emotionless and powerful to keep their position in society. Draco could not cry, scream, or resist while being punished. A stony-faced acceptance of one's circumstances was necessary, or else more lashings (or worse) would ensue.

Draco did not like to feel pain. He did, however, greatly enjoy torturing captured free-roaming muggles. It gave him immense satisfaction to put them in their rightful place, a wonderful mess trembling at his feet. It was also a fantastic way to relieve his stress and pent up frustrations with daily life. Draco was especially vicious to his victims on days when he'd been reprimanded by Lucius.

Draco's carriage came to an abrupt halt, shaking him from his ruminations once more. His mouth felt dry. Shit. He was not looking forward to reporting to his father. The longer it took for Draco to acquire (and keep) a slave, the longer it took for him to gain the respect of a full-fledged wizard. His father did not like feeling that his son was inadequate or unworthy of the Dark Lord's acceptance.

Once Algar released the drop-ladder, Draco jumped to the ground and apparated to the mansion's main entrance. Upon letting himself in, he received a trite blow to the face, which knocked him off-balance and he tumbled onto his back.

"You've come alone," Draco heard Lucius' hissing voice as he stared up at the tall man from the ground.

"Sir, I-," Draco stumbled to his feet, just to receive yet a stronger blow.

"How often must you disobey me, you weak, spoiled, irresponsible fool? Go to your quarters and don't come out until you are sent for. Algar will retrieve you when I see fit."

Draco wordlessly retreated to his quarters and sulked to his bedroom. He whispered a hasty healing spell directed at his head and reclined upon his bed.

Calm, composed. That was the only way he knew to be. Within his mind, he was silently ticked that his father had yet again forced him to heal his own concussion. He was rich, powerful. Why did he have to take orders from his poncy, aging father? Soon enough, Draco mused, he would have the ability, the power, to outdo his father and all of those pathetic old men the Dark Lord used and abused at his laziest whims.

Draco was no puppet. Not to anyone. The Dark Lord knew that Draco was above such trivial purposes. He had special tasks that not even his father knew of. Draco grinned at the thought of his father's ignorance. If only he knew just how strong he could be.