The Pet

The next day came a new visitor, and the boy hid obediently in the closet, curling up in a corner to wait for his master to open the door and tell him to come out. He ached from his reward, but felt more peaceful from yesterday's orgasm, coming back to himself a little more. He still didn't remember what had happened before his master came into his life, his thoughts sliding away when he tried, and soon he stopped, content. It was bad, whatever it had been, and his mind was protecting him. He heard voices outside, and then--the door opened. Afraid, he closed his eyes tightly and curled up, burying his face in his arms. If he couldn't see the monster, it couldn't see him. If he couldn't see the monster, it couldn't see him. If he couldn't--a hand set gently on his back.

"It's alright," came the voice of an elder man. An alien voice. The boy screamed.

"NO! NO!" He bolted, slipping from the man's grip and out of the closet to his master, clutching at him. "Master! Master!" he burst into tears of fear, trembling as he tried to hide in the voluminous robes. He felt a hand on his head.

"He knows the rules of the house," the master said quietly to the other. "He knows the consequences of being caught by Death-Eaters." He didn't mention that he hadn't needed to tell the pet this; the pet had just known.

The boy felt this other gently brushing at his mind, and screamed as though being killed, clutching at his master and pushing at the other's occlumency frantically. "No! NO!"

The hand on his head began to stroke. "Let him, pet."

Shivering, crying, his throat hurting from the screams, the boy clutched tightly at his master and let the other see his mind. The other was softer, gentler, but it was still not master. When he came to, his master was still holding him, and when he looked up, the master looked at him and stroked his cheek.

"Good boy," was all he said, but it was enough. Pale and feeling weak, the boy smiled a watery smile before his head fell against his master again and he panted, noticing he was covered in sweat. As he closed his eyes wearily, he heard the conversation between the two men.

"She--"

"He, Albus." The master corrected. "I must insist on that."

"He has no access to the memories?"

"No. His mind locked them up in shock, and I encouraged it. He doesn't need to know."

"Very well. I will not lecture you about your choices with...him...as he's of age and it is helping him."

The master waited patiently, then said. "And the summer?"

"I see no problems with having him stay at Grimmauld place, so long as we hide him from the portraits and Kreacher."

The master rested both hands on the pet's back now, holding him closely. "It shall be done, then."

When the other left, the boy looked back at his master with a soft whimper. He felt raped. He was surprised to see jealousy on the master's features, and soon he was slowly but firmly pressed to the bed, the master reaching mercilessly inside his thoughts. Mine, mine, mine, mine... came the thoughts in the boy's head, pounding with his heartbeat. After the surprise wore off, he responded with moans and thoughts of his own.

Yours master, yours, master I feel so raped...

He was scooped up and held very close, and the master spoke. "There was not enough time to explain everything in words." His voice explained but was not apologetic. Still connected to his boy with the spell, he saw the thoughts, the need, and obliged. Digging deeper, he merely showed his presence, his power, not looking for anything in particular, nor twisting any thoughts to suit him.

All the boy's thoughts were fine as they were--the only thing Snape had changed was access to the memories. He liked the boy just how he was, and he didn't want that sweetness scrambled and the silence broken. Right now the boy remembered nothing of his old life that was specific, just that Something Bad had happened and that Master had rescued him. Holding him now, venting his possessiveness on the creature's mind, Snape smiled and stroked the soft curls.

Mine, mine, mine, mine...

The boy seemed to like being reminded that he was owned, and writhed and squirmed and moaned on Snape's lap, clutching him. Strangely, Snape felt irately jealous at the thought that someone else had touched his boy's mind. He was furious, and wanted to mark the boy all the ways he could think of, to show his possession. What was calming was that the boy was upset as he was, proving his devotion. He hadn't liked it. At all. Snape moved his hand to stroke the pale neck, turned paler still by the weeks inside with only minutes in the sunlight of the bathroom window to stave off depression.

"You didn't like that, did you?"

The curly head shook back and forth frantically. "Nomasternomorejustyouplease--"

"Silence."

The babbling ceased immediately, and the boy clung tighter, sniffling.

"It will not happen anymore. If someone does it to you, you will come to me and you will tell me."

"Yes master," he answered softly, "Thank you master."

* * *

Soon the master gave him different tasks; he was to pack neatly into a black and silver trunk. He had new clothes, and tried them on. They were black, but the pet was pleased to see that the waistcoats were brocaded and the jacket and breeches embroidered. Black didn't bother him so much. It was rather shivery-wonderful to dress all in black for his master, and in such lovely clothes.

The master forbade him from binding his chest, saying that he would not stand for the pet hurting himself; after the lecture, he went about making the pet's chest boyish. The pet wasn't sure about this at first, but found that not being in pain was very good indeed. Now he was perfect, he thought, a perfect human, with the best of both sexes. As he thought about this, he wondered if the master had taken other things away, and the master came in one day to see that the pet was poking questioningly at his abdomen with a finger.

"You've noticed that you haven't had a menstrual period, I see."

The pet jumped at the voice, looking guilty that he'd been remiss in his duties. As he jumped back to work, the master laughed softly.

"Yes, I've turned that off--messy business. You seem attached to the remaining parts feminine, so I will let you keep them for now."

The pet smiled gratefully as he folded another shirt. "Thank you master," he said softly.

Snape went back to work checking his stores and deciding which potions and books to take with him as the boy continued packing. He was very well at it, with an instinct for utilising space as much as possible. As Snape packed the phials and bottles into a special case, he heard the boy's movement still, and turned to see him standing beside the neatly-packed trunk. The corner of his lip quirking, he spoke to the boy as he continued packing the potions case.

"Good boy," he said, setting Veritaserum into a slot that magically conformed to the bottle's shape. Closing the case, he set it in the trunk beside him, leaving two-thirds of it ready for books. "Pack the books as I hand them to you."

Both trunks packed, Snape went over to sit by the fireplace. The boy watched his movements, but did not move from his spot across the room. Snape liked that, but did want the boy, and so motioned him over with a finger.

"Sit."

The boy knelt and then sat at Snape's feet, leaning against his leg and looking up. With a smile, Snape stroked his hair, looking back into the flames as they danced.

"Your name is Ink. Repeat it, boy."

"My name is Ink," he said softly, closing his eyes. "My name is Ink. Ink."

"Good boy. Your master's name is Snape."

"My master's name is Severus Snape."

Snape looked down at the boy in surprise. The boy knew his name already, it seemed. Annoyed, he spiked into the mind with occlumency again to see how, but found that the boy didn't know either--it had just come out, at random. Stroking the curls again, he relented.

"Sit on my lap."

Afraid now, the boy climbed onto his lap. Snape stroked the boy's back. "Don't be afraid." Instantly the boy relaxed, leaning against the wizard a little. "We're leaving tomorrow. There will be other people where we are going. Do not speak to them. If they bother you, tell me."

"Yes master."

"Good boy." Reaching inside his robes, Snape drew out a phial of something blue. "Open."

The lips were open almost before the order was given, and the potion was uncorked and poured upon the waiting tongue. Snape closed the mouth before it could be spit out in shock--the serum was painfully hot to the touch once it was on the tongue, though it didn't leave burns.

"Swallow."

The swallow was hard, and it took several for so small an amount of liquid. Satisfied with a further demonstration of the boy's self-control, Snape let go of the chin.

"Good boy, Ink. Now go to bed."