THIS IS A REPOST. I originally posted this fic a while back, pulled it because all my Dramione-inclusive plunnies died on me. But now they've been stirring back to life, so I decided to give them second chance.

If you do not like smut, or disapprove of fics in which the AU lends to OOC behavior, read no further.

Those who read these works before my mass Dramione Deletion (or who read these works in my Unfinished Dramione PDF), please note that aside from minor changes and editing fixes, the content of the previously posted chapters has not changed. All returning Dramiones will be updated weekly until all previously-available chapters are posted. At that point, the fics will continue until completion, but will fall under my 'sporadic updates' label.

Because the first chapter of Pet was so short, I have changed it to a prologue, instead, hence why chapter one (previously chapter two) is now included with it.

FANCAST: Alexander Skarsgard as Lucius Malfoy; Henry Cavill as Voldemort; Maria Amanda as Luna Lovegood; Jared Leto as Sirius Black; Adrien Brody [from, like, 10 years ago] as Severus Snape (thank my bestie Kittenshift17 for that one); Tom Hiddleston as Remus Lupin; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback. (Any character not included in the fancast list is because I accept the actors who portrayed said character[s] in the films)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters and make no profit from this work.


An Unwelcome Sight

"You know, Your Highness, you shouldn't be here, right now," Hermione reminded, one eyebrow arched as she prepared herself to launch into a lecture on his lack of responsibility.

Harry held in a laugh—it was difficult to take anything seriously when the woman trying to be serious was currently leaning across him, feeding him a strawberry. He chewed slowly and swallowed, breathing a blissful sigh at the brush of her naked skin against his.

"You should be—"

"I should be in the front hall with the King and Queen, awaiting the triumphant return of our knights."

Hermione pressed her lips together as she sat up. "Actually, I was going to say you are a rather skilled fighter. You should be out in the battlefield with His Majesty's soldiers."

He rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Not like I didn't want to be, but Father wouldn't allow it. The most I could do would be lounge about the front hall with my parents—as previously stated—awaiting their return. I can't do that when I should be out there."

Holding in a sigh, she tried to reroute the discussion, knowing she'd hit a sore spot, though she'd not intended to. Honestly, she was fortunate the prince was so patient with her forwardness and cared so little for formality. "I know it isn't my place to tell you what to do, or when to do it, My Prince—"

"Though you do excel at both," he said with a wink and a lecherous grin.

She laughed in spite of herself as she continued. "But if you're not there, because you're having a romp with your courtesan . . . . Their Majesties might very well send me back in exchange for a girl not so . . . distracting."

He smirked and shifted on the bed, resting his head in her lap. "What makes you think I'd be any different with any other girl as my pet?"

She propped her hands on her hips and curled forward to meet his gaze. "I'd like to think the other girls were a touch more obedient than I. The Mothers couldn't wait to be rid of me."

He tipped his head back, catching one of her nipples between his lips and suckling gently. His arms circled her, hands splayed against the small of her back, holding her to him.

Hermione shivered, her wide chestnut eyes drifting closed. "You are right," she whispered, cupping his chin. She stroked his jaw with her fingertips encouragingly as she added, "Actually, no. You would be worse with them, because they would be too afraid to give you a piece of their minds."

Letting the delicate pink flesh slip from between his lips, he chuckled. "Way I understand it, you're the only one of them with any to mind to spare."

She frowned. She genuinely missed some of the other girls from Solitude. "That's hardly fair. We were all offered the same opportunity to learn, they simply chose not to, because they know what their futures will be. Everyone wants a pet, but they mostly prefer us to be seen, admired, and enjoyed, but not conversed with."

"Lucky you ended up with me, then, aren't you?"

She sank her teeth into her lower lip as she held his gaze, coyly pretending she didn't notice that he was sneaking a hand up one of her thighs. "Well, they heard Your Highness is a bit . . . odd in that respect, but my point is still valid."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she covered his lips with her fingers. There was a strange, terrible sound. She could only liken it to a funeral dirge. The deep, almost discordant notes were just on the edge of her awareness; she knew he'd hear it in a moment.

"Hush, My Prince. Listen."

Sighing, Harry rose up on his elbows and tipped his head to one side. After a few, strained heartbeats, his face fell and the color drained from his cheeks.

Scrambling out of bed, he rushed across the room to look out the window. His entire frame drooped as he rested his forehead against the granite sill.

His reaction set off an icy churning in the pit of her stomach. Gathering the sheet off the bed and pulling it around herself, she hurried to his side. "Your Highness, what's wrong? What is that noise?"

"See for yourself," he said in a low, bitter voice as he pointed out, into the distance.

Hermione followed his gesture with her gaze. On the horizon, a legion on horseback, swathed in black approached the city of Godric's Hollow. She forced a gulp down her throat as the chill in her belly radiated outward, raising goose bumps on her skin.

"Those are Voldemort's troops. My father's forces have been defeated." He turned, green eyes locking on hers. "He's come to claim the palace."

The Potter line had been in rule for centuries. Hermione's heart thumped so hard against her ribcage, she thought her bones might shatter.; she didn't imagine the Dark Lord would be kind in his victory.

Chapter One

Under New Ownership

Hermione forced a gulp down her throat as she reached up, taking the garment hanging over the quatrefoil partition. Fingers trembling, still, she held the dress against her naked skin as she turned to look in the mirror.

Blinking hard, she let out a shaky breath. Was this really all she was allowed?

"All things considered, it could be worse, Hermione," she said to her reflection in a whisper.

Her Prince and Their Majesties—she didn't care that the crown now rested upon Voldemort's head, he was no king—sat in the dungeon. She was free . . . . Well, she amended with an arched brow, as free as she'd been before, at least.

Of course she wasn't sitting in a cell with the Potters, she thought, her fear vanishing in a flash of irritation as she stepped into the flimsy dress and pulled it up over her shoulders. She wasn't a person, she was an object, and one wouldn't hold an object prisoner. One used an object, or they discarded it.

All that remained now was to see which fate her new master chose for her. Hermione held in a sigh as she looked over her reflection. It was just as horrible, just as demoralizing as she feared. Most who had the luxury to own pets gave them the finest, most fashionable attire, because such extravagance was as much a symbol of wealth and status as owning a pet was. Pets were shown off and adored . . . coveted by others.

But this . . . ? Her gaze traced over the sheer, gauzy black folds of the draped gown. The thin fabric was dusted with sparkles of gold and silver for a touch of opulence, but nothing more. Aside from a little glitter and a dash of black shading, she might as well be standing there nude.

Her eyelids drifted closed against a sudden upwelling of tears as she once more let herself understand her situation. She no longer belonged to Crown Prince, Harry Potter. She was the property of the Usurper, Voldemort.

Poking her head around the partition, she looked over the jewels awaiting her upon the vanity table. A fine, weighty necklace, bracelets, a delicate chain to adorn her forehead—she wondered briefly if he was trying to dress her like the priestesses of old—even the sandals set beneath the table had small gemstones affixed to the leather thongs.

Glittering baubles on her extremities, while her lady-parts were barely shielded by the filmy black material. Oh, yes, Voldemort meant to display her, like any other owner, simply in a very different manner.

A rough banging sounded at the door and she jumped. "I will be another moment," she snapped at the guard, knowing he was to escort her to Voldemort's throne room as soon as she was ready.

Collecting herself, she stepped out from behind the partition and crossed the room to put on all those ridiculous adornments. "All right, Hermione, this is no different than it was for any of the other girls who were gifted or sold to someone they did not like."

Nodding and steeling her nerves, she slid her feet into the equally ridiculous sandals. Finally—but not without wondering if it might not be less painful to simply fling herself out the nearest window—she walked to the door and opened it.

She ignored the roaming gaze of the guard, who she thought looked rather like he was ready to melt into a puddle of goo at her feet, and held her head high as she swept out into corridor. Hermione was certain she'd never focused so much on keeping her shoulders squared and her spine straight in all her life.

She nearly fumbled as she reached the main doors to the throne room. Pausing for only the briefest moment, she drew a calming breath, and then proceeded through the entrance.

The room was empty, save for Voldemort looking far too comfortable upon the throne, and a knight in full armor posted on other side of the dais.

As she stepped in, he rose from the gilded seat and crossed the dais. "Well, we do look appetizing, don't we?"

His voice was rich and deep, but it only made Hermione hate him more. Those thick, dark curls, and light blue eyes, that perfect, unblemished skin . . . No one as wicked as he should have any right to be handsome.

The girl was, for all outward appearances, the picture of poised, graceful perfection. All outward appearances, save one. A smile crept across his lips as he noted the defiant glimmer in her chestnut eyes.

"I see the rumors of your . . . spiritedness are true. Lovely."

Keeping her expression neutral, she managed in a light, airy voice, "What would you have of me, My King?" She thought it a wonder those last two words didn't slice her tongue on the way out.

Those unfortunately beautiful blue eyes brightened as he reached his hand out to her. "I am ever so glad you asked, my pet."

She wasn't even certain how she held her composure as she obediently placed her hand in his. Following him up onto the dais, she barely kept herself from protesting when he sat on the throne and tugged her into his lap. This was no such behavior for the throne room!

He bit his lower lip as he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, holding her gaze all the while. "My, my. You really do loathe me, don't you?"

Hermione only stared at him, refusing to even blink.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter, does it? My understanding is pets don't always like their masters." He dropped his gaze, his attention falling to her lips as he went on. "Liking isn't really a requirement, is it?"

He trailed his fingers along the side of her throat, and still she showed nothing.

"It is also my understanding," he said softly as he circled her hips with his other arm, securing her in place, "that every pet has a trigger. All I need is to find yours."

His fingers continued grazing her skin, down along her arm, up her side. He avoided any more-delicate areas—that would be too easy—as he brought his hand back up toward her throat. Sinking his fingers into her hair, he gently raked her scalp with his nails.

A blink.

Eyes narrowing, he watched her expression as he drew his hand forward a little, brushing the edge of his thumb along her ear.

At that, she shivered. The glimmer in her gaze shifted from defiant to defeated.

"And there we are." Once more, he sank his fingers into her hair, tilting her head.

Hermione felt her skin flush as he leaned closer, as his warm breath whispered over her throat. Of their own volition, her eyes drifted closed as he ran the tip of his tongue along her ear. Again she shivered, and he chuckled before closing his mouth around her earlobe to nibble and suckle at it.

Before she realized, she was pressed more closely to him, making soft little pleading sounds. The hand at her hips drew upward, tickling along her skin through the filmy gauze to brush the backs of his knuckles around one of her nipples in teasing circles.

"She can't stay," a female voice called out from the entrance of the room.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked to find Dame Bellatrix there. Arms folded beneath her robes, the dark-haired woman didn't look upset; she looked bored.

Voldemort paid her little mind, only lifting his mouth from Hermione's skin long enough to reply. "Don't be jealous, Bellatrix."

"It isn't jealousy. I just saw that entire display. Defiance like hers can only be quelled with your tricks but so long, my love. You force this upon her, and you will be breeding a viper in our midst."

He shook his head, sighing as he tugged down the shoulder of Hermione's dress to lap at the bared skin. "You worry too much."

Hermione could only stare at the exquisite, pale woman with the enormous dark eyes as he went on as though no one had spoken. But the woman was ignoring her, watching Voldemort.

"She goes," Bellatrix said, her voice hard. "Or you find another sorceress willing to do your bidding."

Sighing, he at last pulled back. Setting a slightly disheveled Hermione on her feet, he stood. "Fine. Send her to the auction house with the rest of the Potters' trinkets."

The color drained from the girl's face—a change difficult to miss after seeing her cheeks so full of color mere moments ago.

"Nothing personal, my dear," he said, cupping her breasts as he spoke, as though he wanted to touch her just once more before giving her away. "Magick wins wars these days."

Voldemort stepped back, and Bellatrix snapped her fingers. One of the palace guards trotted through the doors to escort Hermione from the room.

The Dark Lord was both mildly amused and impressed at the way the girl effortlessly regained that graceful poise and composure as she stepped down from the dais and headed to the door. Too bad, really. He imagined it would have been so fun learning other ways to turn her own body against her.

Bellatrix turned her head, watching as the girl continued down the corridor and disappeared around the bend which led to the grand foyer. She held in a relieved breath. That had been too close. She knew if the Mothers at Solitude had sensed magic in that girl, they never would have gifted her away.

She knew if Voldemort had sensed it, he might've considered that he did not need her.