Pet

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TWENTY-ONE
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Harry reached between the mattresses, searching for the books he had hidden prior to his escape, but they were no longer there. His eyes flickered over the rest of the room. A quick search had revealed that many of the room’s contents had been removed and his clothing wardrobe, dresser drawers and school trunk had been stripped clean of any article of clothing including Uncle Vernon’s ill-fitting socks.

He ran his fingers down the sleeve of the nightshirt he was wearing, the semi-opaque silk was slit nearly to his hips and the wide neckline kept slipping off his slender shoulders. He wondered at this odd choice of attire, but assumed Lucius was sending him another message about his place in society.

Harry dove under the bed sheet as the door handle of his bedroom prison turned. He picked up the “Quidditch Weekly” magazine that was placed on his bedside table and pretended to be reading it. Rosamond’s cries grew louder as the door fully opened, revealing an irritable Severus, a haggard Narcissa and a howling Rose. Harry’s heart leapt, but he restrained himself.

“Give him the baby, “Cissa,” Severus said sternly. “I will not feed a calming draught to an infant without exhausting all other possibilities.”

Mindless of the immodest nightshirt, Harry climbed out of the bed and approached Lady Malfoy. Reluctantly, the witch held out Rose. Rosamond was an absolute confection in pink lace and ruffles, but her angelic appearance was ruined by red, blotchy skin caused by prolonged crying.

Harry held her to his chest. “Rosamond Lucille Potter,” he said in mock severity. “Is this any way to act in front of guests?”

Rose stopped in mid-wail at the familiar voice. Her breath in ragged gasps, she glared at her father for abandoning her. Softly, Harry murmured words on endearment as she continued to calm herself. Settling Rose against his shoulder, he climbed back into the bed in a move to preserve what little modesty he still had.

Rose’s little hand reached into her white blonde curls and tugged at a bow. She flung it to the mattress, glaring over her shoulder in Narcissa’s direction. The slender wizard smiled his first real smile since his return to bondage. He slipped off the miniature white leather “Mary Jane’s” fastened to her feet and tickled her stocking-clad toes.

Off came the lacy pink tights and scratchy lace dress. Wearing only her diaper, Rose clutched a lock of Harry’s long hair tightly in one fist. Giving up in trying to keep the nightshirt on his shoulders, Harry let Rose burrow against him. The infant settled herself against his bare chest, clutching his hair in one hand and her stuffed bunny in the other, listening to the beating of his heart. Her demeanor relaxed as her father softly stroked her hair, but her eyes flickered in curiosity.

“How did you calm her so quickly?” Narcissa sputtered.

“Skin to skin contact…it’s a Muggle thing.” Harry tried to keep the amusement out of his voice. He didn’t want to anger the witch so much that she took Rose away, but he did want to twist the knife a little.

“I’ve heard about that kind of therapy. Muggles have been using it for years in their neonatal wards…St. Mungo’s uses it on a limited basis.” Severus leaned over the pair on the bed, quickly running a medical diagnostic on the both of them. Burning with curiosity, the Potion Master wished Narcissa would leave so he could talk to Harry in private. He smoothed Rose’s fair hair and chuckled at the glare she gave him.

“Rosamond,” Harry admonished, tongue firmly in his cheek. “You be nice to Severus…He’s not nearly as grumpy as he looks.”

Rose listened to her father’s voice intently. Harry never spoke down to his daughter or spoke baby talk. Movement in the doorway caught his eye.

Lucius stood unannounced at the entrance; he arrived shortly after Narcissa and Severus entered the room. Harry was so relaxed and confident with his daughter; another piece to the puzzle, the dark wizard thought. He was jolted out of his quiet contemplation by his concubine’s playful teasing of Severus.

Lucius strode into the room, his face emotionless. He looked at the Potion Master and his wife and spoke a quiet command.

“Leave us.”

~*~*~*~*
Her tummy full, her “Mummy” beside her, and that strange woman gone, Rose curled up with her bunny and her blanket and drifted off to sleep. Beside her on the bed, the slight wizard gently rubbed her back and watched his master apprehensively.

Lucius settled into an overstuffed chair across the room. With a soft command, an elderly house elf appeared beside his knee.

“Pippi, take my daughter to the nursery. Her possessions are in the blue bag beside my concubine.”

“Yes, Master Lucius.”

Pippi approached the sleeping infant and smiled up at Harry. She gathered Rose into her arms and vanished. The diaper bag and an empty bottle vanished a moment later.

“What am I to do about you?”

Harry’s gaze dropped before he raised his head and met Lucius’ eyes. The pink tip of his tongue moistened his lip.

“I do not know, Master,” he replied.

~*~*~*
His head resting on the dark wizard’s thigh, Harry willed his cramping legs to obey; after months of freedom, he would have to re-learn submission. Lucius’ calmness made him uneasy. He had expected his punishment to be swift and brutal, but the strong hand merely petted his long, black hair.

“The Dark Lord was pleased to hear of your safe return.”

Harry said nothing. Drawing Lord Voldemort’s attention was rarely healthy. The firm hand paused mid-stroke and snaked toward the bare shoulder. Harry shivered.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you, little one?” Lucius paused, but did not expect a reply. “Did you know that there is a spell on the books in the Malfoy Library? A spell that lists the dates and titles of books removed from the shelves?”

Harry swallowed audibly.

“Such a diligent little scholar you turned out to be…and all those red herrings you left lying around so I would think you a brainless twit…”Fly Fishing in the Hebrides”, indeed. You were so very through in your research into Wizarding Law…twenty-seven books…no twenty-eight if I count the book you hid under your mattress. Tell me, Pet, do you remember the punishment for a runaway concubine?”

“It is at a master’s discretion.” Harry looked at the floor, nervously tracing a pattern on the carpet.

“Let’s see how well you remember your studies, shall we? Jacobson’s Law?”

“One hundred and fifty lashes over a period not to exceed twenty-four hours.”

“The Bones Law?”

“1542 or 1736?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Both of them.”

“The Bones Law of 1542 called for one hundred lashes and the removal of one or both feet at the ankles. It was modified in 1736 outlawing amputation but the tendons of the calves were severed.”

“You know you must be punished, don’t you? Lord Voldemort insists upon it. And if I invoke Montague’s Law, what happens to you?”

All color drained from Harry’s face.

“I would be taken to Knockturn Alley, stripped naked and chained to a wall. You would gouge out your mark of ownership from my hip and I would be whipped until I lose consciousness. I hang on the wall for three days, available to any and all that pass by. They could curse me, beat me, or even fuck me. If I am not dead at the end of three days, the crowd chooses whether I hang on the wall until I die of exposure or I receive the Avada Kedavra.”

“Do you want me to invoke Montague’s Law?”

“No, Master,” Harry whispered. He was pulled into Lucius’ lap, the silk of the nightshirt sliding slightly against the rough fabric of his trousers. Lucius’ broad hands ghosted over the planes of the trembling, hairless flesh. One hand reached under the nightshirt and wrapped firmly around Harry’s testicles. Harry caught his breath as Lucius painfully tightened his grip.

“Tell me, Pet…How many Muggles did you let fuck you?”

“None, Master. I spread my legs for no one.”

“You are mine…and no one but me will ever touch you. If I thought you’d whored yourself, you would already be on that wall in Knockturn Alley.”

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