Hello all, I finally had some free time today and decided to create this little gem. I'm quite proud of it now that it's done. Well let me know what you think! Also I've had a few people offer to translate my stories into different languages lately which I think is a brilliant idea so if anyone would like to translate my stories just e-mail me or message me so that I can put the link up on my profile!






Severus POV= italics

Harry POV= regular text


Mistress Slytherin


The room was warm, he still shivered. The darkness threatened to overwhelm him, the strong hands grounded him. The feel of leather cords pliant and biting aroused him beautifully causing him to toss his head back in a silent moan when they were adjusted. They wound up his arms and across his torso marking him as they coiled around his legs in an intricate pattern. Long fingers slid into his hair toying with it before yanking backwards and forcing a gasp from his partially opened lips…

He is beautiful. Mine. He kneels before me with an expression of pure rapture his hair still clutched in my hand. His oiled skin looks delicious beneath my work. Young muscled skin ripples its lightly golden hue tempting me with every twitch. My God he's beautiful. His blindfold won't allow him to see the lust in my gaze but I know that he feels it anyway. The barest tip of a pink tongue darts out to wet the boy's plump lips and I lean forward capturing that movement with my own mouth releasing a low growl. He shudders against me, struggles against the urge to lean into the kiss because he has not been given the privilege to do so. He is mine. My rules are what he lives for and he must abide by their every sentiment, even the unspoken ones. He is delicious my little one. I tug on his lower lip with my teeth and watch the expression of longing flitter openly across his features. His high cheek bones and the bridge of his gently sloping nose are stained pink as he struggles not to lose himself to my ministrations. So submissive…so right…he belongs here. Mine. My own.

When he strikes I am caught off guard, still reeling from the sensations that only he can create in me. The shock of the first blow quickly gives way to the sting of leather against flesh. It's the only place that he has not yet decorated with his straps and it simmers with pain and pleasure. The need rises up within me, the need I understood just as well as he when I first came here. Another blow falls this one harder, unforgiving. The heat and the searing agony slides through me like a slowly burning candle. Blood pounds in my ears as he leans in close. He knows that I want this-need this, but I reminds me that he is the only one who can give this to me, this absolution. "More?" He whispers. His voice is raw with need just as mine is raw with begging pleading submission. "Please!" I hear myself speak. This is the first word I have said all night, since I entered this room broken by what lies beyond my Masters protective embrace. If I could I would not ever go back out there. I would stay here and live for him and his wishes, but he would not let me. He pushes me to face the world and stand on my own feet though he is always there when I crumble.

He's trembling now. His shakes of course have very little to do with the blows themselves. He needs this almost as much as I do. He needs to hurt because he feels that it is his fault. I've seen him write their names down, some of them hopeless strangers, some of them close friends. He knows everything about these people; he makes a point of learning about them as if to torture himself further. But not even that assuages the guilt lying at the bottom of his poor tortured soul. I know this feeling. I have served Lord Voldemort for so long that I can't remember what freedom is. I lash out again in agony and self loathing. To assure myself that he is there, he is real. His cries are beautiful a cacophony of delicate whimpers and pleading gasps. At the first split of skin I feel the monster inside me rawer the trickle of blood spurring me on though my blows are steady and well measured. This is one boy who I will never hurt beyond his wishes. This control keeps me going. He is weeping openly now his shoulders shaking his body bowed from the force of my whip. Gods he's beautiful like this. Trembling, begging, broken, mine. I am the only one willing to hurt him this way, to answer his pleas and put him back together when he reaches the edge. There are days when he teeters on the brink of darkness, when it all simply becomes too much. I never allow him to fall though, and I never will. He is mine.

The blows come swiftly now, clinical, accurate and harsh. Agony rises up with each stripe and I feel as if my skin his lit on fire. I want more. I'm lost in a swirling vortex of love and pain and hate and protection. I am his. These words escape me as the tears flow their salty trails down my cheeks burning my inflamed skin. I thank him with each flare of pain and beg him with every indrawn breath inhaling with a sob as my sins are removed from me stripe after stripe. Then there is a deadening silence, a terrible agonizing gap in time while he puts up his whip. I gasp as a bucket of chilled water crashes over and around me the sensational overload nearly causing me to faint and fall over. Rivulets of copper stained water stream over my chest where I've been bent forward and my fingers twitch from the strain of clenching them in their bonds. I am weeping I know that I can never truly pay enough for the losses occurring because of my hand, lives are far more precious than my guilty conscience, But when he at last pulls me into his arms sobbing and trembling I feel better. That's what he is, Absolution- my absolution. The fabric of his shirt chafes my raw bleeding skin and hurts terribly but I need him now. Now when all I can think of is pain and death and guilt, now while their eyes still accuse me and haunt me from beyond their graves. He is lifting me now, gentle and sure my anchor in this turbulent mess that is my mind and just as gently he is laying me on the bed my back in the air while I sniffle into his pillow. It smells of him, the air smells of copper and wet carpet but his pillow smells like him, I inhale deeper as he begins the whisper chants his voice calming and reassuring as each bloodied line is closed.

He grows steadily quiet now his breathing still ragged but his body pliant and willing restraints gone from him. Now he will let me love him. Now he will allow himself to enjoy the pleasures I have to offer him. As I close up the last of the wounds I pull out a salve and spread it across his skin. It is too dangerous for him to wear my marks now, they might hinder him, so I heal him despite his longing to carry my scars. He hates that the scars he owns do not belong to me but to others, and I must admit, I share the sentiment. When this war is over I will mark him- brand him with my name. When this war is over I will at last be able to leave the small tags on his collar, the ones that state who he belongs to, who he's given himself to. He shivers at the warmth of my hands and the cooling sensation of the salve. He wants this and so do I. We have waited far too long to be together again. With practiced ease I loosen and readjust the cords binding his legs spreading them apart. He bites back a whimper and I chuckle. So responsive…My fingers spread his cheeks and I feel him shiver. He wants me…his back is still red and crisscrossed with red welts, my marks. A feeling of possession rises inside me and I find myself biting down on the soft mound of flesh beside where my fingers are holding him open. He cries out, arching into the air, but I suckle and lave the spot until it is bright red my brand. He groans and I can't help it, I break the silence. "How do you need me my pet?" I whisper my voice is thick with want but I allow him this choice, he needs it today. He needs to know that while he is mine, he made the decision to come here. "Hard." He gasps. "No preparation…please sir! Master! Need you inside me!" My gaze softens and pride rises up within me. Slowly I reach up and slip the blindfold off drawing another gasp from him. I almost never allow him to see. His eyes…they are still too painful a reminder of the friend I have lost, betrayed, destroyed. His gaze is lowered, he awaits me and I find I can do no more than kiss him twisting his head around to meet mine wary of his wounds. The message is given without the need for words. He knows why I blindfold him, and he knows why I choose to take the blindfold off. Tonight he has become my absolution, strong in the face of what I crumbled before. I will no longer allow him to wear the blindfold; it will be put away for good.

"Please" I find myself begging. To be accepted so completely is more of a gift than I could ever imagine. He has had other lovers; other pets in his life time though none as long as he has had me. He told me when this began that he blindfolds his pets, under no uncertain terms was I to remove the blindfold or as for it to be removed. I accepted his terms and now he has withdrawn them. He has shown his respect for me as his pet, allowed me permanence greater then even the permanence my collar assured. I am his completely and utterly more so than ever before. And I want him. Oh how I want him. I can see his eyes glittering, possessive- glances that before now I have coveted because I wasn't allowed to see them. Now they are staring directly at me, piercing me strait to my soul and leaving a chilled shudder behind. I need him…I need him so much that it hurts. I can see the marks on my lower back; I can see the red mark bitten into my left buttock. And I can see him staring at me letting me beg him. "Please take me…" I whisper. A long fingered hand settles on my shoulder and suddenly he thrusts forward and into me impaling my and tossing me once more into a whirlwind of sensations. I catch glimpses of him as we move, as pain and pleasure war within me, I am needed, wanted, owned, and oh so full. Contentment wells up within me despite the urgency that rises steadily a tidal wave waiting for his command. I shiver and whimper but it is not enough I want to scream for him but he has not given me my orders, so I bite my lips so hard they begin to bleed as he takes me over and over again. Strong, sure, powerful, his magic winds around me crackling against my flushed body adding to the sensations already threatening to overwhelm me. "Scream pet." He hisses directly into my ear the sound traveling down my spine as his hands grip me steadying me. And I scream, I scream for him and he loves it, his hand tightens on my hip and I feel his erection pulse at the sound. Merciful gods…

He is begging me; he tightens around me as he struggles to remain still. His sharp moaning sounds and the whimpers that follow drive me forward. His green eyes are wide and glazed flickering back to me every so often pupils dilated in pleasure. I no longer see her in those eyes, she is gone from me and has been for a long while, and in her place is a gift more wondrous than any of Luscious' priceless baubles. He has given me the thing that settles deep inside of me almost like a purring cat, the assurance that he will not leave me. He is crying out for me now and I know as I slip once more into his tight welcoming heat that neither of us will last much longer, the impact of the emotional outpour displayed tonight has grown and grown until now it seeks a release. He is clenching the shits in his hands his face screwed up in bliss and concentration. He wants to come and so do I but he will wait for my order my permission. He gasps soft breathy gasps as sweat begins to form at his brow. Now. I grab for his silken hair and yank his head back my other hand wrapped around his neck possessively as I give one final thrust. "Come for me." I say my voice raspy from the tension. I watch his eyes roll back as he lets go shuddering his release. He whispers inaudible pleas and I am for a moment lost in the sensation of him in my arms. My pet. I am driven over the edge his clenching rippling muscles combined with his muttered praises draw me into a timeless blissful oblivion.

He lands beside me with an expression of contentment. His dark eyes that can freeze you in your place and cause even the strongest willed of men to flinch are sated. They look on me with a lazy pleasure the possessive spark that I know to be there lingering in the distance. But what I see, what makes my heart stutter for an instant in disbelief, is love. I know my master loves me; otherwise he wouldn't have taken the blind fold off or offered me his collar, but to see it there, written plainly and without reserve. He has given me all I've ever wanted. With this I can face tomorrow. With this I can stand my ground against the world that threatens to break me, because I am not theirs to break- I am his. Only he is allowed to shatter me and then painstakingly put the pieces back together again. I smile softly, it is the first time in a while I realize. The scent of our love making tinged with my pain and the herbs mixed in the salve is heady, it makes me sleepy. He gathers me up into his arms and pain ripples through the momentary peace as I come to know that this changes nothing in the outside world, that beyond these arms lie death and torture. He hushes me and nips at my wounded lips. He is right of course; I need this peace, without it, without him- Merlin save the wizarding world. "Sleep." He urges gently. I sigh letting these troublesome thoughts fall away from me as my breathing evens out and slowly my awareness of the world fades away. When I see him again in the morning he is holding out his hand in an offer of support. Tears spill anew from my eyes as I take his hand and slide from the bed. "Dress me." He orders simply. I do not think him insensitive for this; he does it because he knows that I need to be grounded today more than ever. Without hesitating I am slipping his shirt over his shoulders. The motions are soothing and my tears quickly stem as I focus all my attention on him until he stands before me foreboding as ever. I sink to my knees with a sigh of gratitude and he slips his fingers through my hair petting me soothingly. "Go bathe and dress I will be waiting for you." He says softly trailing a finger down my cheek. Nodding I crawl towards the bathroom. It is odd somehow to be moving around his rooms without the blindfold. I know them well enough that I could move without sight but with sight it seems almost unnatural. Quickly I bathe dress and kneel at his feet. My stomach is twisted oddly but he forces bits of fruit and cheese past my lips anyway knowing that I would not refuse even if I felt like vomiting with each bite. Juice is placed at my lips and I swallow it thickly the anxiety rising within me as the time to leave approaches. "I am here my pet." He says his hand grasping my chin warm and reassuring. I nod and lean into the hand a tear escaping. He knows. He understands my sorrow.

He is silent as we floo from my home to Hogwarts, his gaze distant as it catches sight of the latest damage done to the school. They are already there waiting for him bowing their heads and whispering condolences. He holds his head high despite the obvious agony that dwells within them. I know that he is hard pressed not to weep yet he squares his shoulders stills his trembling jaw and steps forward. They follow him because he is their leader, he is their king and savior, but he is so much more than that. His strides are sure as we make our way through the deserted hallways. School has been canceled for the better part of four years now. Even still I see him glance to the side and know he can hear the phantasmal laughter that once echoed against these walls. He remembers them all. He writes their names down in a book and weeps for them when no one else is looking. Children at the cusp of their futures brought down by a mad man. Adults who have committed no crime save being born to the wrong sort of parents. He knows them all, intimately. He focuses his gaze on the pathway and I can see in his stiff shoulders how heavy the burden is. Without him hope would have been lost with the fall of Albus Dumbledore, yet he took his stand, threw away the last dregs of childhood that he had clung to so desperately, and became the worrier they all needed. The sky is gray, not from dreary weather, but from the ashes that still float in the air, yet still the light shines brightly, just like he does. He takes a step and they all follow. They are here to share his pain; they are here to suffer with him and acknowledge that life is fleeting. The Weasley clan is already there, they are watching him with their chins held high because like him they are proud to have known the one laying in that casket. Granger is there as well, her eyes dull but her resolve set. I know well that she will stop at nothing to end this now. To end this war that has torn us all to shreds. She nods at me in respect because she knows that for Harry, strong, resilient man that he has become- I am the only thing keeping him from unraveling. He stops before the grave and his eyes flicker in a moment of weakness settling on mine for just a moment before returning to the casket. He needs me, I am aware of this and so I move forward stealthily so as not to attract unwanted attention until I am standing behind him, the pillar he needs to lean on.

He is there. He is always there. The growing anxiety finds itself stifled with just that knowledge. He is there, my master is there. And so I pull my chin up and nod at the priest to begin. There in that coffin is Ron, one of my first friends, one of my truest friends. He had grown so strong these last few years. The death of his sister-in-law, and his sister by blood forced him to grow up. The last time he had seen his Ron was just before battle. They were weary, but Ron had smiled even as he saw the approaching enemy. He squared his shoulders tightened his jaw and held his wand ready. I'll never forget what he said to me then, I hadn't known that they knew about Severus, but he smiled at me like he knew some sort of great secret. "He'll keep you safe he will, Harry." He had murmured softly as if he knew that this was it for him, as if he could already feel the blade ripping into him. I had stared at him then, wide eyed as he snickered at me. "Love you man!" He jeered before rushing forward, ever the Gryffindor. The ashes had hidden him then and Harry had been lost to the battle until he felt Ron fall. He blinked and swallowed thickly against the lump in his throat. Hermione slid her hand into his hand he was aware that he hadn't even sensed her moving. His collar, hidden beneath robes and charms heated up slightly as his master reminded him that he was not alone. Slowly he felt the pain and sorrow drift into something familiar, a rage that had been growing with each life that was extinguished. It sat like lead in his stomach and burned like acid in his heart as he watched the casket lowered into the ground. He nearly gasped at the answering rage he felt from Hermione. She was a formidable witch now, her book smarts had been transferred by necessity into skill. In one second she could list over two hundred different shielding charms if she needed to she was deadly and she was furious. I tightened my grip and sent my own rage towards her causing her to glance at me in understanding. No more mercy. No more second chances. They will die. With this the funeral is at it's end, the sorrow is pushed to the far corners of my mind where it will grow bitter a name added to my list and a catalyst for whatever hell we unleash the next time Death Eaters cross wands with us.

I can see the resolve in their eyes and pity any who fall in their path. Their willingness for mercy was the only thing truly keeping them from annihilating Voldemort. Over the years as the names on Harry's list grew in numbers that mercy had dwindled. Now it was gone. My Harry will destroy them. I know this with absolute certainty. The power the Dark Lord knew not was not Love after all. His green eyes are sparkling with fire now, dancing with hidden emotions and raw loathing. I smile slightly to see that Granger is not very different. No one moves from where they stand, as if every one is aware of the shift this war has taken. The earth is settled and the gravestone put into place. Yet no one moves. No one is willing to. Lunch is ignored, as is the suns' steady crawl over their heads. Finally, as twilight approaches Harry takes a deep shuddering breath and releases it. It unleashes the emotion that has been simmering here and when the first explosion hits the wards I realize that Voldemort could not have chosen a worst time to attack. Their wands are ready. Their hearts and minds are sharp with understanding and with one fierce growl from Harry the battle begins. This time I will take my place beside Harry. He will not fight in this alone. Spells fall eagerly from my lips as I curse unsuspecting Death Eaters with every vile permanently damaging spell I can think of. Blood and screams which have become familiar to me sweep into the air though none as beautiful as what spills from my pets lips and skin. The violence that I under normal circumstance keep under lock and key is unleashed. For every tear that my pet has shed I deliver an eternity of agony. My wand is flashing faster than ever before as it moves gracefully chants and curses falling from my lips in a litany of inaudible words spoken too quickly to be understood. I am lost in their blood. I am lost in my revenge. All I can think of now are the nights my Harry has woken me with his screaming. Of the hours my pet has spent clinging to me as he wept begging me to help him when both of us knew that I couldn't. The others I notice absently are for the most part the same. They fight with sheer rage they fight because they are exhausted, tired of burying their friends, they fight because just across the way, Harry is fighting. I am struck momentarily with his beauty. There is a ferociousness inside of him that has awakened and is tearing the enemy to pieces. Many don't know how to respond to such blood thirsty rage coming from the boy who couldn't even cast an unforgivable. My Harry is strong. I smile contentedly and return to my own battles. This is no longer a war, it is a massacre and any that dared wave the Dark Lords' flag shall fall and drown in their own blood and the blood of their comrades.

I see him. Voldemort is standing still, his eyes are wide and shock has apparently rooted him to the spot. Without flinching I tear Luscious' head strait off his shoulders. I meet red eyes and see him shiver. This man. This monster. He is the reason for all this death. He is the reason Mrs. Weasley will mourn yet again for her child. I see her over there. I see how terrifying she truly is. She is quite literally tearing several Death Eaters to pieces her sorrow and rage pouring out of her in steady waves of magic. This time we do not fight to protect. We are not here because of some vision of light against dark. For the first time since this war has begun we are here to kill. We are here to end this in the most concrete way possible. Ron's grave will be bathed in their blood. I advance my hand steady my wand dripping. He does not move. He can not move. He simply stands before me. Terrified. Suddenly I understood the Prophecy. The power the Dark Lord knows not is simply this: Fearlessness. He fears death. I own death, I am death. The gears click into place and I let my wand fall from my fingers. Voldemort's hand twitches but is unable to move to raise his wand. Slowly I ease my glove from my hand. There will be no brother wands interfering with this. I let the magic build; let it settle around my fingers until they burn. The pain is agonizing as the power grows. I am aware that this is the reason the use of a wand is preferred. But he is there before me the sun setting behind him and with every ounce of strength I have left I pull my hand back and rush it forward. I feel his bones snap, I smell the burnt flesh, but I am looking into his eyes. My fingers wrap around his heart, the pumping muscle struggles and he gurgles in pain blood dripping from his lips. His arms move jerkily and his wand drops to the ground as he reaches up desperately to circle my wrist with his hands. For this, I find that no words are necessary. I had always dreamed that the end would be some sort of grand affair but now it comes to this, I squeeze. I squeeze until his heart forgets to struggle and his eyes glaze over. The end is simple. Because he does not deserve more. His body falls sliding from my bloodied arm to the ground. Silence surrounds me and for the first time since I met those red eyes I look up.

I smile thinly at what I know he too can see. The lawn which just this morning had been shining brilliantly with dew, bright green, was littered with bodies. The earth was slick and wet with blood. But they are gone. Every last one of them is dead. The others look around as well. It is Hermione, draped in torn blood soaked robes that starts it. Wearily she raises her tiered hands and brings them together in a resounding clap that slowly builds. The others join her. They have found their jubilee. Green eyes flicker across the field in shock before finding mine. I watch my pet. I watch him with pride as he lets go of his post and runs towards me. I feel the bonds that have kept me captive for so long loosen as he approaches. I am free. Nothing can keep me from what I do next. His lips are beneath mine before I can even register that the others are looking on. Mine. My pet. He is alive. I do not notice the tears at first, or if I do I think that they are his. But they are rolling down my cheeks as he clings to me and the others stare on, but I admit that at this moment- I could care less. It is over- oh gods it is over! Lily! It is over!