'Poor sweetheart' he thought.
Draco Malfoy, seated in his regular booth in the corner of McDougal's bar, observed his charge, Ginevra Weasley. He smiled to himself. It was quite endearing, really. She was only a kid: one drink and she was already seeing stars.
The twenty-one year old Deatheater tore his eyes away from the red-haired, fair-skinned beauty. He pulled out a small, yet sharp blade and carved a notch in the edge of the table. He sighed, leaned back and admired his handiwork.
Forty-two. Forty-two martinis, forty-two late nights and forty-two shouting matches she's had with muggle what's-his-face. She needs a new meeting place.
It really was a big number, not to mention all the other missions he had to trail her. It's been a long war, but one in which he mostly observed and been kept safe. After the deaths of his parents, Draco became the Dark Lord's right-hand man. He was the mastermind of many raids, ministry infiltrations and battle-plans, but, like Voldemort, he didn't participate. He initially thought his second job (to "keep an eye on the boy's whore" as Voldemort put it) would be just as easy as the first.
How very wrong he was. Keeping track of Ginny Weasly, and (more importantly) what information she was leaking to the muggle world was like a Cleansweep 500 attempting to catch up with a Firebolt. It just doesn't happen.
Malfoy laughed to himself for making up the simile. It all depends on the flyer, he reminded himself.
He turned his attention, once again, to Ginny. He drummed his finders and sighed aloud; he was getting anxious. This was not uncommon to the stalker. While he kept it safe, she was just the opposite. Draco couldn't count how many times he's seen her in battle, or almost getting captured. After a while, he realized that when she cries out in pain, his heart jumps. He finds himself holding his breath every time she's hit with a curse.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Draco Malfoy was anxious and impatient and wanted only one thing above all: to hold Ginny in his arms and protect her from all the evil things in the world.
Though Draco had come to terms with his love, if not obsession, for the girl, he continually questioned his role in watching her. Was he her stalker, or protector?
One thing was for sure: soon, she would be all his.
Draco now looked at his muse with an interesting expression. His eyes portrayed a doting love, while his lips curved in a sardonic smile. We must remember, though, that he's still a cunning, Slytherin Deatheater.
Ah, hell. Let's have some fun. Like a ghost, he silently negotiated his way to the bar. The bartender raised his eyebrows, waiting for Draco's order. Malfoy nodded towards the now resting Ginny.
"Get her another drink. Put it on my tab"
"Right away, sir. Shall I tell the little miss who her benefactor was?"
"That won't be necessary. I'll be introducing myself later on."
As the bartender turned to mix up another martini, Malfoy ever-so-slyly dipped his hand into her robe pocket and pulled out Ginny's prized 11-inch oak wand.
Poor thing. Little does she know. She's never been alone.
Ginny, dipping in and out of consciousness was thrown on full alert when the bar's crowd of football watchers suddenly burst into whoops and yells of excitement.
Damn pricks. She silently cursed the innocent sports fans for being too loud. Her pounding headache had only gotten worse. Stumbling out of her chair, she dropped a twenty pound bill on the table, to cover her drink and tip.
The bartender called out, "Miss, someone sent you-"
But Ginny just waved him off, not wanting to deal with whatever he was talking about.
Only two steps out the door and a strong hand grabs her arm from behind, jerking her around to face the one and only Draco Malfoy.
Fear flooded inside her, as if it made up her soul. She knew Malfoy wasn't someone to mess with. He was powerful: practically puppeteer to Voldemort's Pinocchio.
Ginny froze, her eyes never leaving his. She willed herself to get a grip and get her wand, but her body refused to obey.
Malfoy pursed his lips, trying to keep from grinning. I have her. He kept a good grip on Ginny's arm, while placing his other hand firmly under Ginny's chin. His eyes, mesmerized by hers, finally pulled away and inspected the face of the object of his obsession. He memorized the shape of her eyes, the location of every freckle and the semblance of pure innocence that radiated throughout her. His eyes once again met hers, and he allowed himself a smile of wonderment.
"Well, aren't you pretty?"
AN: Review please!