Blondie

A/N: I have absolutely no idea where this came from. If you are a student of WWII, you may recognize some of the references. It was an experiment that popped into my head and was written in about half an hour, finding historical parallels in an alternate setting. Please review, I'd like to get people's views.

10/02/2009: A/N--I just wanted to thank my reviewers; Mariteri, luidvika, Roguemudblood, smurphy, thanks for responding, you make me blush at your wonderful words. VR.

Blondie.

She was his prize, his reward for his loyalty, in spite of his half-defection at the Battle of Hogwarts when he had abandoned the fight to locate his missing son. The Dark Lord had been strangely understanding of his need to find his only heir in the midst of the fighting and had only Crucio’d him a few times. After Potter had died in that dramatic sunrise duel, Lucius had been given the position of Autocrat of Britain.

He had also been given Granger.

Lucius remembered the injured, malnourished teenager being flung at his feet, half-conscious and bleeding on his Aubusson rug. It was shortly after Narcissa had been allowed to quietly commit suicide instead of being executed for her treachery in the forest; Voldemort had decided that his new, public face of authority (Lucius was the perfect choice to assume a role as the new leader, while the Dark Lord manipulated things from behind the scenes) Lucius would need a private, er, consort, of sorts.

Draco had been made Minister for Wales, since he had tried so valiantly to defend the Horcrux Diadem and was long since gone to Cardiff. Snape was dead, the popular story that he had died defending his Lord, instead of being murdered by him.

And now the most brilliant mind in Wizarding Britain lay asleep in Lucius’ bed.

Granger had wept and screamed when he had raped her for the first time. Her virginity pleased him and he ordered her to be cleaned up and dressed in decent clothes, to her surprise. It had been made clear to her that she was his pet, not his equal, fit only for use as a sex toy or servant. Her intelligence had never shown more brightly than when she had submitted to the inevitable. He took her everywhere with him, always one step behind him or kneeling at his feet as he toyed with her hair with her eyes downcast; a visible symbol of his Lord’s triumph over the Order of the Phoenix.

The other survivors had been parceled out to loyal Death Eaters or sent to work camps, after the example of some muggle dictator that Voldemort recalled from his youth. That man had failed in his dreams of conquest also.

She had stopped using her name, for some reason. She had begun calling herself ‘Blondie’ whenever anyone cared enough to ask her, which wasn’t often. He had been confused at first, since while her hair was a light brown, she certainly wasn’t blonde. It wasn’t until he had researched the name that he learned it was the name of the pet of Voldemort’s favorite muggle. He had laughed and let her use the German Shepherd’s name as her own, liking the idea of her being his dog.

He would hand feed her to keep the poisoning attempts to a minimum, taking her on the long walks he enjoyed around his estate, and often fucking her in his office, bending her over whatever piece of furniture was nearby and loving the little whimpers she gave out as he pounded into her tight sheath. He was the only man to have had her, and she would never have another, he would make certain of it.

Not all resistance had crumbled, of course. A few survivors had escaped to other countries, and their passionate appeals had actually garnered support from the American Department of Magic, the Italian Strega council, and a rather fierce faction of the Baba Yagas from Russia. The war had spilled into the Muggle worlds as well, with increasingly vicious fighting in the Middle East.

The Death eaters were now outnumbered four to one by foreign forces and losing badly. Even now the enemy was closing on his fortified estate. The Dark Lord had committed suicide not an hour before. With his Horcruxes used up and his mind increasingly unstable, there was little else for him to do.

The entrance to his sanctuary was under attack now. The Russians were breaking through the lines of Imperio’d defenders despite fierce resistance. He didn’t have much time. Lucius would keep her out their hands; it was the least he owed her for her subservience.

Taking the bottle from an inside pocket of his robes, Lucius lay down next to her and gently lifted the sleeping woman into his arms. “Drink, pet.” He commanded as he held the glass vial to her lips. She was so used to accepting food and drink from his hands that she didn’t ask what it was. Obedient as always, she drank without even opening her eyes.

She so seldom looked at him, he realized. It wasn’t subservience; it was because she didn’t want him to see the loathing that lurked in her brown eyes.

The poison worked almost immediately. She shuddered once and he felt her heartbeat stutter and cease under his hand. Leaning back against the pillows, he drew her cooling body into his arms and stroked one hand over the mass of frizzy curls resting against his chest.

There was an explosion from the corridor outside his room. The enemy had broken through.

Lucius took a healthy swallow of the bitter brew, one of Snape’s last concoctions, and closed his eyes. His last thought was that Granger had known long before he had that they would lose.

Hitler’s pet had been poisoned as well, when he had lost his own war.