Pet

*~*~*
ONE
*~*~*
One by one the wards protecting Hogwarts were dropping, opening the castle up for Death Eater attacks. Albus Dumbledore had died quietly in his sleep several days before and, with his death, the wards began to fracture.

Dumbledore’s death created a vacuum of leadership. The Ministry of Magic had already fallen, weakened from within by entrenched Voldemort supporters. The Wizarding world of Great Britain was in chaos and the shattered remains of the resistance were defending Hogwarts.

Mad Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt stood atop the Astrology Tower, surveying the battlefield beneath them. The fickle wizarding public had tried to pass Dumbledore’s mantle of leadership to Harry’s slender shoulders, but the sixteen-year-old wizard refused, stating that he was not yet a fully trained wizard and he had no battle expertise. At his insistence, the leadership was passed to Mad Eye and Shacklebolt.

The remaining witches’ and wizards’ attempts to reinforce the castle’s natural defenses were weakening. Via portkeys and a still working floo network, they were slowly evacuating the castle, sending non-combatants and wounded to any available sanctuary.

Harry stroked Hedwig’s feathers and tied a message to her leg. As if understanding the finality of the situation, the snowy owl kept nipping at him affectionately. With a final cuddle, Harry sent her with an encoded message to Madame Maxime, the Beauxbaton headmistress.

On the surface, Beauxbaton, like the French Ministry of Magic, was remaining neutral in the battle against Voldemort. As a humanitarian gesture, the headmistress had opened her school to refugees and orphans; privately, Madam Maxime had also opened the school to members of the resistance.

Harry’s message to the giantess informed her a final group of refugees would arrive on the surviving Hogwart’s thestrals. As a footnote, he requested that she not send Hedwig back; there would be no one alive to accept the message.

*~*~*
Harry’s memories flitted by in a haze of Muggle pain medication. He was once again lying on his bed in the smallest bedroom at #4 Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia’s caustic tongue was unusually silent and she seemed withdrawn, but Uncle Vernon was oddly pleased. If Harry could have focused on his situation better, both of their reactions would have alarmed him.

He was only vaguely aware of how he ended up back in Little Whinnig. In a last ditch effort to hold the wards long enough for escape, they had used Harry’s considerable magic as a fulcrum, grounding Minerva McGonnogal, Fillius Flitwick and an unknown Ministry witch. He remembered the wards collapsing, as first Flitwick and then McGonnogal were killed; unable to hold it alone, Harry released the Ministry witch but was caught in crossfire when the halls were overrun with Death Eaters. He remembered his wand exploding, fire and pain, of getting hit with curse after curse, explosions and green light and of being trapped in Dumbledore’s office with Mad Eye and several Aurors.

When there was no other recourse left open, Mad Eye ordered retreat; since the wards had dropped, it was now possible to apparate and disapparate on Hogwarts grounds. Those who could not apparate were sent through the floo network. Mad Eye ordered a young Auror to take Harry through the floo to The Leaky Cauldron; they were to escape into Muggle London and in a few days, attempt to reach the safety of Beauxbaton.

*~*~*
Tom looked up from his newspaper at the bar as two wizards flooed into The Leaky Cauldron. The pub was deserted due to a curfew imposed on Diagon Alley; no one was permitted on the street after dark.

Curious, the old wizard watched as the wizard in Auror robes eased a child in school robes to the floor. With a look of sadness, the Auror tore the Gryffindor crest from the robe and apparated out of the pub, leaving the prone body behind.

Tom cursed under his breath; it was not the first time a dead body had been left behind since the war began, but it had never been a child before. Slowly he kneeled beside the small dark haired male and gasped when he recognized a friend.

He stroked Harry’s cold forehead, brushing back the rat’s nest of hair. He caught a slight flicker of movement; perhaps Harry wasn’t dead.

“Enervate.”

Harry barely roused. His hands and arms were badly burnt; in places it looked as if it had burned clean to the bone. Tom looked at the Muggle clock above his bar and cursed again. Death Eater security would be making their rounds soon and Harry was in no condition to defend himself. Even if he had been conscious, he didn’t even have a wand.

Harry needed immediate medical attention and Tom had only the basic knowledge of healing spells. He knew he could not take the slight wizard to St. Mungos; Death Eaters now controlled all of Wizarding London and most of England as well.

The bartender accioed a quill and parchment from the bar, quickly scrawling a few words. It was fastened to Harry’s torn jumper. He removed and incinerated the tattered school robe. With one last look at the clock, Tom gathered the unconscious wizard into his arms and apparated to a Muggle hospital far from London.

~*~*~
The emergency room resident handed a scrap of paper to the young constable responding to her call. He turned it over in his hands.

“He had no other identification on him?”

“No. We don’t even know how he got here. No one saw anyone bring him in. He was wearing some sort of school uniform, but it was badly damaged. The school crest was missing.

The young officer looked at the paper again. There were only four words – a name and a location – Harry Potter – Little Whinnig.

*~*~*~
Harry swallowed another two pain capsules and tried to eat the soup his aunt had left for him. His hands and arms were wrapped in heavy pressure bandages and trying to hold a spoon in his stiff, mitten-like hands was impossible. Finally, he abandoned the spoon and held the bowl up to his mouth, trying not to drip the hot liquid onto the oversized t-shirt he was wearing.

He glanced at the sunlight streaming through the boarded up bedroom window and wondered how long he had been at Privet Drive. He lost all track of time, floating in a haze of pain, fever and medication. Did anyone even know he was still alive, he wondered.

Harry lay on the bed, deep in confusion and in pain. He felt hollow inside and it unnerved him. Was the hollowness due to depression or pain? Thinking reading might help distract him, he saw a newspaper his aunt had left behind.

“Accio newspaper,” he said, holding out his bandaged hands. The newspaper did not move.

“Accio newspaper,” he said louder and with more concentration, but the newspaper still did not move.

What had happened, he wondered; a feeling of dread began to fill him. He could not feel his magic. The hollowness he felt must be his missing magic.

“Merlin,” Harry whispered. “What happened to my magic?”

The slight wizard heard his uncle’s laughter through the walls and his aunt’s voice; she sounded upset. Uncle Vernon had either did something or was going to do something and Aunt Petunia did not approve. This was one of the few times he had ever heard them fight. Idly, he wondered if he was somehow going to get blamed for it. He drifted off into a drugged sleep.

*~*~*~
Harry heard his uncle and several unfamiliar male voices in the foyer below. Still feverish, Harry tried to stay awake. He heard heavy footsteps climb the stairs and his uncle’s voice grow louder. Used to them pretending that he did not exist, Harry was startled when he heard the deadbolts on his door slide open. Blearily, he looked toward the door to see his uncle and two men enter the room.

Harry froze. He recognized the men. They were wizards. It was Lucius Malfoy and Walden McNair.

*~*~*
Lord Voldemort sat in quiet contemplation, stroking his pet’s silky black hair; his spider like fingers caressed his pet’s shoulder and back, unconsciously counting the vertebrae. His serpentine crimson eyes widened slightly as Lucius bowed before him, McNair beside him with Harry cradled in his arms like a broken doll.

Voldemort beckoned them to approach. He patted his pet’s head one more time. Harry whimpered when the Dark Lord’s hand lightly stroked his cheek, the pain radiating from his scar exploding.

“Your mother’s love no longer protects you, but I still cause you pain…A pity.” Voldemort pulled off the shabby blanket Harry was wrapped in; Harry trembled as the sudden coldness hit his fevered flesh. Voldemort’s hand snaked up a smooth thigh and caressed a naked hip beneath the sweat soaked t-shirt.

Harry’s eyes opened, the brilliant green dulled by pain; an odd glassiness caused by the medication.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Please what, Harry Potter?” The hand continued to stroke the young wizards overly warm skin.

“Please don’t toy with me…just end the game.”

Voldemort’s face quirked into a smile. He leaned forward and ran his tongue across Harry’s lips. Harry flinched, but made no sound.

“I have no intention of killing you, little one.” Harry stared into the crimson eyes. “You’ve grown up to be quite beautiful…you’ll make someone the perfect pet…. It’s a pity I already have a pet of my own…I would have enjoyed bending you into submission.”

Voldemort jerked on the leash connected to the choke chain around his pet’s throat. The tall man unfolded from his nest of pillows beside Voldemort’s throne and knelt beside his master submissively.

Voldemort stroked his pet’s hair. “Was the Muggle uncle satisfied with his reward?”

Lucius smirked as Harry flinched once again in McNair’s arms. “We let him live, my Lord. And that should have been reward enough.”

“And the woman?”

“She tried to protect the boy…so she was not injured. I merely oblivated her.”

“Severus,” Voldemort pulled the Potion Master to his feet and captured his lips in a forceful kiss. “Take Potter to your rooms. He is in need of your Mediwizard skills.”

“Yes, Master.” Severus bowed and reached for Harry, not meeting McNair’s eyes.

*~*~*~*
Severus consulted several medical tomes as he looked over the Muggle medications Lucius had taken from the aunt. He flicked on the computer tucked into the corner of his small potions lab.

“Muggle technology, Sev?” Lucius asked. “I’m surprised.”

“Muggles are one thing, their technology is another.” Severus slid around the white blond wizard, rolling up the sleeves of his form fitting green velvet robe, and ducked into his adjoining bedchamber. He checked the level of bathwater in a slowly filling bathtub.

“What are you doing?” Lucius asked as Severus pulled off Harry’s t-shirt and settled the slender figure into the bath water.

“Until I know what is in the Muggle medication his aunt gave him, I can’t risk potions. We have to bring down his fever without magic…I need to check my medical databases…Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t drown.”

Lucius indicated one of the badly burnt wrists. “Sev, he’s not wearing a control band.”

Severus examined the blistered and peeling skin. “It’s not necessary. His magic shattered in the fall of Hogwarts. They must have been using his magic as a conduit to maintain the outer wards when they were breached. It’s a sign of the strong wizard he used to be that it didn’t kill him.”

*~*~*~*
Severus gently massaged a thick gel into the burns on Harry’s hands and arms and watched as the skin began to heal itself. Lucius watched his old friend’s slim hands. The Potion Master’s hands had always fascinated him. The dark wizard bound the damaged hands and arms in loose gauze.

“I really pity Muggle burn victims.” Severus shook a blue vial to blend its contents before dispensing three drops on Harry’s tongue. “Neither one of those Muggle medications would actually heal the burns; the tablets are almost pure morphine and the salve was to fight infection. Left untreated, he may never have had the use of his hands again. Some of these burns destroyed the muscle – any worse damage and the Muggles may have amputated his fingers.”

Severus studied the sleeping younger wizard. “Poor little bastard…If his uncle hated him enough to try to sell him to the Dark Lord, I am surprised he didn’t just overdose him with the narcotics and claim it was accidental…Albus was a fool to have ever sent him to live with them…”

“Is he safe to move?”

“Don’t bother. He can stay with me. The bed’s certainly big enough and he doesn’t take much space. Chances are I’ll be called to His bed anyway.”

Lucius squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

Severus smiled bitterly. “I’m still alive..”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“By all rights He should have killed me…but I’m too valuable of a commodity…Imagine…your very own pet Potions Master.” He slipped one of his own nightshirts over Harry’s head and gently maneuvered the injured arms into the sleeves. He looked into the concerned white blond wizard’s face. “Don’t worry, Luce. I’ll be fine as long as I spread my legs on command and grovel in an appropriate manner.”

*~*~*~*
Severus donned his nightshirt and slipped his exhausted body into bed beside the injured Harry. Unconsciously, the slight young man curled up against him, seeking comfort and companionship.

The Potions Master examined the sprite’s features in the flickering firelight. So pretty, he thought, and so fragile. With his magic gone, did the boy have enough inner strength to survive with his spirit intact? Severus knew the former savior would be a much sought after commodity within the Death Eater ranks; was there a way to prevent the boy’s destruction at the hands of an animal like Walden McNair?

Harry whimpered in pain. Being careful of the damaged limbs, the dark wizard tucked the small figure securely under his chin. Harry calmed. Before he drifted off to sleep, Severus smiled, thinking of Harry’s horrified reaction to discover himself curled up intimately in bed with “the greasy git”.

*~*~*~
The full moon cast odd shadows on the walls of the dungeon cell and illuminated Seamus Finnegan’s face. The Irish wizard stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

“Oh Harry,” Neville whispered as he snuggled beneath the blanket they shared trying to stay warm. “It was horrible.”

“What happened? Seamus hasn’t said a word since I’ve been here.” Harry shifted slightly against the uneven stone wall, his thin borrowed nightshirt offering little insulation against the chill.

Ginny Weasley reached through the bars from an adjoining cell and squeezed Neville’s hand.

“Seamus and Dean got as far as Diagon Alley before Marcus Flint turned them in. Justin Fitch-Fletchly and the Creevy brothers actually got to Bristol before they were caught boarding a ferry.” Neville paused, glancing over at Seamus, who showed no signs of hearing their conversation. “I was already in the holding pens when they brought them in…after a day they began to separate us…Pureblood, Half-blood, Muggleborn, Squib. The Death Eaters raped some of the Muggle born witches and wizards before they killed them. I saw them take Dean and Dennis and…”

“Bastards said they were vermin,” Seamus’ broken brogue whispered into the stillness. “You exterminate vermin…”

From a distance they could hear the cry of a lone wolf. Harry stood on the cot and peered through the bars at the moon. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the moon glowed brightly, illuminating the forest beyond Riddle Manor.

“I wonder how Professor Lupin is doing.”

Harry continued to look out the window as if trying to catch a glimpse of the wolf. “He’s dead, Ginny.”

“Oh Harry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“He went out on his own terms…he didn’t like being the last Marauder.” Harry sank to his knees on the cot, nervously picking at his gauze wrapped fingers. “Professor Snape had already been captured and betrayed, so there was no one to brew the Wolfsbane…Remus took off out of the castle in his wolf skin…and barreled into a Death Eater encampment. He caught Bellatrix LeStrange…tore her throat out and that of another Death Eater before they took him down.”

“They didn’t capture Snape.” Seamus snarled. “The greasy git turned traitor.”

“No, Seamus…that’s where you’re wrong.”

*~*~*~*
Ginny and Neville had been removed from the cells. Because they both came from Pureblood families, they had been taken for “retraining”. When a suitable match was found, they would be married off for breeding purposes. Harry was afraid for them; what determined who was suitable?

*~*~*~
Stripped of all but their last layer of clothing, Harry and Seamus huddled together on a long platform in the great hall with a number of other young male wizards and squibs. Different colored cards with numbers were pinned to their underclothes. Harry wondered vaguely why he was the only one with a silver edged card; his classmate stiffened as an orange card was pinned to his sleeveless undershirt and a hand was slipped into his briefs.

Harry could hear the teeth chattering on the man beside him; he didn’t know if it was from fear or from the cold. Most of the men and older boys were in their undergarments, but Harry had no undergarments on beneath his nightshirt. The wizard who pinned on the card had lifted the nightshirt and groped beneath it; for a moment Harry feared he would be forced to stand naked on the platform, but other dark wizards glanced nervously at the card and insisted he wear the nightshirt.

Harry felt very vulnerable; his slight frame dwarfed in both Severus’ nightshirt and a sea of taller, muscular men. In small groups, the dark wizards closely examined the prisoners, touching them sometimes in the most intimate of places. Seamus had been groped numerous times, but no one approached Harry.

One by one the wizards were claimed, but no one claimed Harry. He was terrified; anyone not selected as a pet would be sent to a Knockturn Alley brothel. Walden McNair pulled Seamus off the platform. Harry wasn’t so sure Seamus wouldn’t have been better off in the whorehouse.

Another group of wizards climbed the platform and still no one claimed Harry. Harry stared at his feet; his Aunt Petunia always told him he was an ugly little boy. Was he so ugly no one wanted him in his bed?

The room was almost empty and Harry’s heart sank. There was something ironic about The-Boy-Who-Lived becoming a whore. He would not give them the satisfaction of tears. He was vaguely aware of the slamming of a heavy door and raised voices. Looking up, he saw Lucius Malfoy stalk into the hall, anger flaring in his eyes.

Swiftly, the elegant blond strode across the hall, raised his cane and struck another wizard.

“How dare you display what is mine…Crucio!”

The wizard crumpled in pain. Harry recognized him as the man who had ordered him onto the stage and had pinned his number on. The remaining wizards in the room backed away, not wanting to draw the infamous Malfoy wrath. Lucius hurled the curse twice more at the wizard. With a trademark smirk, Lucius pushed the shaking man away with his dragon hide boot and stalked into the platform, robes swirling.

Harry shook as the serpent headed cane was placed beneath his chin; gentle pressure forced the green-eyed wizard to look up. The anger had not receded from the icy blue gray eyes.

“Imbecile,” Lucius hissed. “You were pre-selected. You should not have been on display at all.”

Harry tried to control the anger that swept through him. He was a prisoner; it wasn’t as if he had had a choice about being on the platform. Guards had stunned anyone foolish enough to fight back. Gryffindor courage was one thing – idiocy was another.

The slight wizard kept his eyes locked fiercely on Lucius as the silver cane caressed his jaw and cheek.

“Did any of them touch you?”

Harry’s eyes flickered unconsciously toward the wizard limping toward the exit. The dark wizard turned, flicked his wand once casually and the wizard dropped to the floor again in agony.

“Did anyone else touch you?” Harry shook his head. “Excellent. No one else was foolish enough to touch what is mine.”

*~*~*~