HEY ALL! This is just an idea that popped into my head and I really wanted to share it so I'm not sure what people with think of it… Well enjoy….

He had done it. He had, by some great miracle, defeated the darkest wizard of all times. But he couldn't relax yet, for he knew that there was still a lot of work to do. He sighed as he ran a hand through his messy black hair, pushing it away for a brief second so you could have a clear view of his lightning-bolt scar. The scar that no longer burned.

Harry Potter looked around him at the battlefield at Hogwarts, and saw the many still bodies covering the ground. He shut his eyes in dismay, trying to clear it from his head. All those deaths…. He opened his eyes reluctantly, and noticed that there were still many wounded. Anyone with any healing training whatsoever was desperately trying to stop death's sweeping strike. For many, the war is over, but a much different battle has only just begun: the fight to save lives, not end them.

Harry didn't hide much from his friends, but there was something big he never shared with them. Sure, sometimes he'd drop subtle hints, wondering if they would figure it out, but they never did. And so he didn't argue with fate, even though common sense would say he should have. It wasn't some insignificant thing like a new crush or something. But Harry saw it as a weakness and he didn't want them to see him as his relatives saw him: a freak. Deep inside, he was worried they might agree with their treatment. So he said nothing and just got very adept at healing spells and glamour charms. And they came very handy in cases like this.

Harry smiled grimly, and went to the nearest person. It was a man, possibly in his thirties, and he looked in deep pain. A large gash was on his stomach, and blood was gushing out. Judging by his pale, sweaty face, feverish eyes, and groans of pain, he needed treatment fast. Harry knelt by him quickly, pointing his wand at the man.

"Hold on," Harry whispered, holding his wand steadily at the man's wound. "I'll fix you right up." Taking a deep breath, Harry waved his wand.

The white light floated angelically above the injury, healing it slowly, until the slash was completely gone. With a quick "scorgify" the blood was gone, and Harry got to his feet, satisfied.

"You should be fine now until someone else can check you over again," Harry commented kindly, and the man gave him a weak smile in gratitude.

That healing spell was one of the few Harry could do nonverbally, and that showed just how frequently he used it. It would be sad to most people, but to Harry it was a fact of his life. People said he was lucky, but he didn't understand how someone with such a high pain tolerance is lucky. If that was luck, then it surely wasn't something he wanted. One of the worst flaws of man is that when someone has one piece of splendor or success, they think that it is the epitome of that person's life. With Harry it was very much not so. He didn't want any of it: the glory, the fame, the money, or the attention. Being the Boy-Who-Lived was not worth it in any degree. But no one really understood that.

Harry was about to move to the next patient, but was stopped when one of the healers came up to him. He was dressed in the white robes of St. Mungos, and looked very tired and stressed. His blue eyes met Harry's and he gave the chosen one a half-smile.

"I just noticed that you are quite proficient in healing, Mr. Potter," he said in a low tone. "I thank you for your assistance and for ending this war."

"Of course, Mr..?" Harry trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

"Reinson, Carl Reinson," he offered, holding his hand out to shake Harry's. "Now, Mr. Potter-"

"You can call me Harry, sir," Harry cut off quickly.

Carl Reinson smiled. "And you may call me Carl."

Harry nodded, and then waited for what he had to say.

"As I noticed you can handle yourself rather well," Carl continued, "I was hoping you would go out near the forest some more and see if there are any hidden injured people. We have it all in control in this area, but I am concerned about any stragglers. There is probably one or two that you might find."

"Okay, I can do that Carl," Harry agreed.

"Thanks Harry," Carl said, and some of the tension left his face.

Harry nodded, smiling, before heading off to the forbidden forest. He glanced around, looking for any survivors, but only saw a few dead bodies. Trying to push away the images from his mind, he continued his search. As he got to the more outskirts of the battlefield, he was frozen by a scream. Feeling as though he has been struck by lightning, he sprinted towards the direction of the shrieks. He didn't go very deep into the forest, but Harry still tensed while he ran.

Then he saw her. She was lying on the ground, letting out yells of agonized pain, her slim body curled up in a ball. Her curly black hair fell around her body as she convulsed and twisted in torture. Letting out another bloodcurdling scream, Harry snapped out of his stillness and rushed to the girl.

Harry touched her gently, and she flinched, gasping. Frantic silver grey eyes met his, and he looked over her anxiously. But she wasn't wounded. She let out a small shout once again, showing she clearly was suffering.

"What's wrong?" Harry said quickly, looking over her worriedly.

She gasped, doubling over in another bout of anguish. She glanced at him, trembling.

"Please," she choked out. "Where is Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Harry looked at her in a calculating eye. "She's dead," he said. "She was killed in battle."

At her cry of terror, Harry looked at her in suspicion. "Are you a Death Eater?"

She shook her head quickly, her face warped in a mask of pain. "No, no," she panted. "She's my-my mistress."

Harry felt as though someone dumped a bucket of ice cold water on him. "Your what?" he asked, stunned.

Blood started to trickle down her face from biting her lips so hard. She continued to tremble, and Harry was still struck by the confusion of where her pain was coming from.

"Why are you in pain?" Harry questioned quietly, pushing away his questions on Bellatrix and the girl's correlation.

"I am a slave," the girl whispered, gritting her teeth. "Bellatrix Lestrange is my owner. And now that she is dead, I am dying."

Harry stared at her in astonishment, his heart racing as he understood her words.

"How is that possible?" Harry fired off, still numb by the alarming news. "How could you be dying? And how could she be your mistress? Slavery is illegal!"

She shook her head, and seemed to be about to reply, but she shrieked instead, rolling up into a tighter ball. The vulnerable position snapped Harry out of his questionnaire and he instead focused on making her stop screaming.

"Shh," he said softly, rubbing a hand down her arm in a soothing manner. "Please, tell me how to make this pain stop."

"I need a new master," she gasped out from her position, and then convulsed again. "With her dead… I need a new owner."

Harry tried to process the words, but he still couldn't believe this. Slavery! This girl who was about the same age as him needed a master to survive.

"Who?" Harry said his voice full of dread. "Who do you need as a master?"

She let out a small scream, and Harry tightened his grip on her. "Please," he pleaded. "Tell me who you need!"

"Anyone," she begged, her voice weak. "Please, I can't take it-" she was cut off from rough coughs, and blood came out of her mouth onto her legs.

Sick with fear, Harry tried to think of something to do. He knew what needed to be done, and cursed his hero complex.

"I'll do it," he said, his voice shaking. "What do I do?"

She looked up, her dead eyes having a spark of hope, and she tried to ignore the pain. Still trembling horribly, she sat up slightly. She took a wand from her pocket, and waved it at her left wrist, causing a deep slice to occur. Harry was taken aback, and before he could ask her why she did it, she spoke.

"Please do the same thing," she said desperately. "It's for the ceremony."

Harry unsteadily copied the movement, and stared at his bleeding hand. She brought her hand to his, and pressed the two bloody wrists together. She winced from another flash of pain that overcame her, but stubbornly kept silent.

"Now you have to say a spell: cruor of servus cruor of erus religati."

Harry listened intently, and repeated it a few times. At her hisses and cries of pain, he decided it would be best if he did it right away. Pushing away his doubts and self-disgust that he was doing this, he reminded himself that this was the only way for her to survive. He could always free her later.

Pointing his wand at their intertwined hands, he said firmly, "Crucor of servus crucor of erus religati."

A white light encircled the hands, and the blood from the hands evaporated, and the glowing turned into a ruby red ray and then it vanished. Rushes of energy were hitting Harry, and he gasped in shock at the nauseating exhilaration. He watched as the agony faded from the girl's face, and was replaced by a sweeping exhaustion, but she relaxed from her rigid position. She looked up with her silvery eyes, and bowing her head, got into a kneeling position.

Harry finally had a chance to observe her, and he took in her slender body, and her subtly curved face. Her lips were a darker shade of the average color, maybe because of the blood from biting her lip, and her grey eyes were mostly hidden by long eyelashes. Curly, long black hair fell over her face, contrasting with her pale complexion. Her clothes were filthy and ripped in some places, and her face had many streaks of dirt on her. But one of the most eye-capturing features was a jagged scar on the edge of the left side of her face, which was shown when her hair was moved aside by the wind. He looked at it, wondering how in the world she got such a scar. He recalled who was her previous mistress and his hands rolled into fists and he gritted his teeth. He hated her even more now, if that was even possible.

"Master," she murmured, her eyes flickering up to look at him while he examined her.

"Master?" Harry repeated, stunned.

"Yes, my lord," she said softly. "You are my master."

"Can't you call me Harry?" he asked, somewhat desperately.

"No, Master," she said in an apologetic voice. "The slave bond will not allow it."

Millions of questions ran through his mind, but he pushed away the more complicated ones, and settled on the simplest.

"What's your name?" he asked gently, pulling her gently to her feet so she was no longer bowing.

"Vala, my lord," she said, bowing her head in submission. "But if that doesn't please you-"

"No, no," Harry interrupted quickly. "You can keep your name! Of course you can!"

Harry had thought he would snap out of his shock, but the more and more he was with this girl, he just got more and more stunned. He was a master. He owned someone. Harry felt like puking.

What had he gotten himself into?

"Vala," Harry said quietly. "How did you become a slave?"

She looked up for an instant, her face full of shame. "I'm paying a debt, my liege."

Harry look at her in confusion. "A debt? For what?" he asked, astounded by the sheer situation.

She again would not meet his eyes. "My father destroyed much of the Black family property and manor and because of certain circumstances-"she broke off, flinching. Before Harry could question it, she carried on. "Because of certain circumstances, my father was unable to pay them back. So the old laws proclaimed that he would have to pay them back in any way the owners thought was justified."

Harry looked at her in horror as he processed her words. "They forced you to be their slave to make up for property destruction," he hissed.

Vala recoiled at his angry tone. "I'm sorry," she said fearfully. "I did not mean to anger you, Master."

Harry shook his head quickly. "I am not angry at you, Vala. But I am furious that you would lose your freedom so thoughtlessly. I thought our government was fair!"

Vala bowed her head. "Old laws are sometimes overlooked and forgotten, but in my case it was not, my lord." She looked up sadly, her expression ashamed and her grey eyes dark. "And no one would dare argue with the Blacks, especially seeing since who my father was." She bowed her head, shaking uncontrollably.

Harry was dying to know who her father was, but stayed quiet, as he saw how much distress she was in. He touched her face lightly, and she didn't move, but stayed motionless.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he felt her tremble under his touch. "Please forgive me, Master. Please don't punish me."

Harry stiffened at her words, and fought the flashbacks of his uncle. Why did she think he was going to punish her?

"I'm not going to hurt you," Harry reassured her softly. "I promise."

She looked up, her eyes darting across his face, searching for a sign that he was lying. At his sincerity, she looked puzzled, but still wary. Then her eyes fell upon his scar, which was uncovered suddenly as the wind brushed his hair back.

"You are Harry Potter," she gasped, her eyes wide.

Harry bit his lip, withdrawing back. "Yes," he said coolly."I know."

She seemed to recognize the sudden harshness, and bowed her head again. "My apologies, Master. You do not need a slave to tell you of your identity."

His eyes hardened at her submission. "No I am sorry," he sighed, frustrated. "I just am so sick of the attention. It was even worse after the war."

Vala looked up instantly. "The war is over, Master?" she murmured, her voice full of hope.

"Yes," Harry breathed, running a hand through his hair. "It's finally over. He is finally dead."

Vala beamed slightly at him, a sincere smile coming upon her lips, but it quickly fell. Harry thought she had a nice smile, and wished she would smile more often.

"What now, Vala?" Harry asked, wondering what was expected to do with a slave.

"Anything you wish, my lord," she replied humbly, her hands folded in front, and her head bent slightly.

Harry looked at her for a long moment, trying to figure out what to do. This slavery thing sure caused a lot of problems, and he didn't know what to expect.

"Well, I think it would be best if we returned to Hogwarts," Harry said determinedly, glancing back at the large castle. "And then we can work on setting you free."

Vala looked at him miserably. "I apologize, my liege," she whispered. "But I do not believe that is possible."

Harry froze, closing his eyes as he digested this information. He opened the emerald orbs a few minutes later, his face showing both displeasure and revulsion.

"Very well," he said stiffly, before grabbing the arm of Vala gently, but firmly. "Come on."

They only took a few steps before Vala weakly started to fall, but Harry held her up. She looked at him with her weary grey eyes.

"I am so sorry, Master," she said feebly, and tried to get up, but her legs collapsed underneath her.

Harry picked her up and clutched her closely to his chest. He shook his head at her protests. "Its fine, Vala," he said quietly. "You've been through a great deal of pain and shocks today. You must be magically exhausted."

She stared at him, stunned that he would willingly carry her. "Thank you, Master," she murmured a few times, and he smiled in return.

As they were walking, Harry was thinking hard about all that had developed today. He glanced at the wand clutched tightly in her right hand, and realized something.

"Vala?"

Her eyes flickered to his, holding their attention for a moment. "Yes, my lord?" she asked respectfully.

"Why were you allowed a wand?" Harry asked, holding her even tighter as his attention turned to the wand.

She hesitated, her face half-hidden by her curly curtain of black hair. "My mistress wanted me to be able to punish myself whenever I needed to, my liege. So she allowed me the wand and ordered me to only use it when I need to punish myself."

Harry stopped, looking at the girl in his arms with disgust as his expression. "That is horrible," Harry said coldly, "and I permit you to use your wand at any time."

Vala looked amazed and had a dazed look on her face. "Master, you are too kind," she gasped, and he simply shook his head.

"I will not take away your rights Vala," Harry said confidently, trying to comfort her. "And I will never punish you."

Vala tensed in his arms. "Master?" she murmured grimly.

"Yes?" Harry replied, glancing down at her as they passed Hagrid's hut.

"I will be punished with or without you, Master," she admitted tentatively. "The bond punishes me if I do not behave as is required."

Harry's face conformed into a mask of horror. "What requirements?" he asked, sick with dread. This was just getting worse and worse. "Is this why you must call me Master?" He said it so reluctantly that she looked at him in surprise.

"Yes, my lord," she replied softly, her eyes downcast. "If I disrespect you in any way, attempt to harm you or your property, or disobey an order, then the slave bond causes me inexplicable, agonizing pain. The only way it is relieved is when the bond is satisfied or you intervene by punishing me yourself."

Harry gasped his face uneasy and sickened. "That is so wrong," he said, his voice shaking. "I can't do this!"

Vala tensed, and bowed her head. "You have the right to kill me, Master," she whispered almost inaudibly. "If you can't deal with it."

Harry went rigid, looking at her with an emotion she couldn't understand."Don't you ever say that," he growled, his eyes steel. "I would never kill you, Vala, and I will free you someday!"

Astonished, Vala just nodded faintly, wondering if this Harry Potter really meant what he said. The dark part of her felt as though he was just playing with her emotions for personal pleasure. But she knew she could do nothing if this was true, so she stayed silent, wondering when he would finally crack and raise the first fist.

Little did Vala know that Harry was remembering his own past, and felt he owed it to Vala to give her the liberty she deserved. Still uncertain on how he would do it, he only knew that he must. As they neared the castle, he glanced at the dejected girl, and hoped Hermione didn't kill him. She hated slavery with every fiber of her body.

Harry hated it even more. He knew what it felt like, and he didn't want to be the one enforcing it on another human being. Not if he had a say in it. But as he recalled her explanation of the bond, he realized with a sickening feeling that he might not. He was a master now, and it didn't seem like it was going to end anytime soon.

The slave binding spell is in Latin and translates to: Blood of slave, blood of master, binding.

If you didn't know, Vala is pronounced- VAH-luh

Hope you liked it…. I might not be quick to update this one because my first priority is Destiny's Light but if this story gets good feedback I would be happy to update frequently…..

Pairings:

It is planned to be HP/OC. (Can you guess who the OC is? Hehe)

I will NOT have any slash.

Probably will be HG/RW and GW/DM…. any suggestions just tell me….

I know some of the details might be vague but I will explain more once Vala and Harry have more time to talk about the specifics. I have a lot in store for you… And you will NEVER guess who Vala's parents are!

But other than that please review and happy reading!:)