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The Pet	By : ellerynocturne Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 3154 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Pet
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 2
- 3
- 4
Disclaimer I only write fanfiction for fun, and the only things I claim as mine are the original characters I create and the plot of the fic; which isn't much, really.
Forenotes I have posted this up on Sheezy, my lj and a mailing list, as well as my personal site. Phew, that's a lot of coding! However, I have gotten reviews from two people. So I decided to post here, since I am now allowed to hang out here. The warnings say self-insertion, but it's not yo' mama's self-insertion!
One Last Advisory Potion fetish, occlumency fetish.
SPOILERS FOR BOOK FIVE AKA ORDER OF THE PHOENIX

The next day came a new place, and the master whisked him into the kitchen, past all the people who made Ink tremble with fear. Not because they were frightening conventionally; the fact that they were other people was enough to make the boy hide in his hands. They asked questions of him, so many questions, and he nearly got hysterics. He did when he felt the master wince from the Mark's burn. Panicking, he clung to the master, beyond crying and into panicked mews.
"Let go, Ink."
Obedient, he let go and watched mutely as his master disapparated. The people began to talk to him again, and he found it easy to ignore them for a moment. Then someone touched him, and he screamed, jerking away and falling as he lost his balance. Someone else tried to catch him, and he screamed bloody murder, the sound shrill. Get away, get away, get away and hide! He scrambled to his feet and bolted blindly, but found himself trapped in the room.
"Ink, calm down."
Ink whirled to see the other from before standing across the room, silvery beard seeming to glow in the low light of the lamps. He concentrated on breathing, staring at the table. Master trusted him, master trusted him�
"Who is she, Albus?"
"He!" Ink hissed at the tartan-clad woman, with a snap of rage he didn't know he had. He hated being called she. It was a lie, a horrible insult and a lie. Taking a breath, Ink calmed himself. "Is boy."
"No boy has a scream like that." A dark-skinned man said quietly. Ink whirled, but before he could reply, the one named Albus did.
"Nonetheless, Ink is a boy."
Ink felt smugness and gratitude, but was still worried about not being able to leave the room, and his gaze darted towards the door.
"Soon, Ink. Why don't you sit?"
Ink didn't answer, but remained standing, eyes shifting nervously as he backed into a corner, his arms folded defensively.
"Why is 'his' name Ink?" barked a thin man with long, ragged hair.
"Why not?" answered Albus with a smile. "Ink has been through a very frightening event, and no one is to speak to him about it. In fact, he'd probably like it better if no one spoke to him." The blue eyes looked at him over the half-circle spectacles, and Ink nodded eagerly, then thought of something.
"No occlumency," he whispered again. "Must promise."
"No occlumency."
The blue eyes looked around the room, untrusting, suspicious. "Must promise." He whispered again.
"And why would you let Severus do it then?" a grizzled man covered in scars asked.
"Is special. Now promise."
"What if we say no?" he pressed. Ink felt his breaths become short and shallow, his jaw setting to keep him from bursting into tears of helplessness. He felt the man touch him with occlumency and screamed, screamed shrill and hard, over and over, falling to his knees and to his side on the floor, curling up and still screaming, screaming like a rabbit in the throes of death.
"Enough, Alastair!" cried a woman's voice. "For the love of God!" Ink felt a woman rush over and kneel, hovering but not touching. "Oh baby, are you alright? Poor dear�"
Ink just curled up and hid in his hands. He wouldn't cry. Sure enough he wasn't, and just trembled, his belly sore from screaming as he panted.
"That was cruel, Alastair!" she said, turning from Ink to speak sharply. Ink noted her fire-hued hair and freckled skin. Ink got to his feet slowly, brushing his nice new clothes free of dust. The woman stood as well, turning back to the grizzled man.
"Never can be too careful."
"Ink is no threat, Alastair. I am disappointed that you did not trust me in this matter." Albus said, his tone ever so slightly sharp. Ink settled back against the wall. He must have looked like the Master, because again the man with ragged black hair spoke.
"Moulding the kid in his image already?"
Ink didn't say anything, but did look at the door again, crossing the room carefully. It opened this time, and the red haired lady moved to join Ink. He looked at her, unsure. She had been kind, but she was still a stranger.
"I'll show you up, dear," she said with a smile. "Come on, this way."
As they left the room, Ink noticed some flesh-coloured strings rolling up into a dark doorway. Curious but obedient to the master, he merely followed the lady up the stairs and down the hallway. She stopped in front of a door.
"Here it is, love. There's a connected bathroom, and you just come down to the kitchen when you're hungry." She reached out a hand to pat Ink on the arm, but stopped herself when the boy recoiled. "Sorry dear," she said, blushing a bit, "Anyway, I'm Mrs. Weasley. You'll see my lot floating around here and there." And she turned and left Ink to himself.
The walls looked curiously bare, but Ink didn't mind so much. He didn't like the moving pictures at all and was very pleased to find that the bedroom was bare completely, with only a bed and other inanimate things. Lonely, he busied himself with unpacking, placing the books and bottles on the desk. Unconsciously he sorted them by colour and size. Once that was done, he began to make the bed, using the sheets that had been set on the mattress. They were black silk, and the pillows and duvet were down. This made Ink sigh lovingly and strip completely, folding his clothes neatly on the bedside chair. Completely naked, he slid into bed and rolled around, humming and moaning at the sensations. Oh it felt so wonderful�.
After a long while, Ink woke up to the feel of his stomach growling for food. Rubbing his face, he stretched, then sat up and began to dress again, this time in his new clothes. Carefully he slid on the stockings, making sure there weren't any bits of dust caught between his skin and the cloth. Next was the shirt, with its billowed sleeves and ruffled cuffs; then the snug breeches that clung to his curves, making panties impossible. Making sure the shirt was tucked in perfectly, he donned the elegant cravat, then the waistcoat. Slipping on his high-heeled shoes, he tied his hair back with a black ribbon before deciding he needed gloves because who knew what person would want to touch him? Digging tidily through the trunk, he found that yes, he had remembered master getting him a pair of gloves. They were thin dragon hide, used for when Ink was assisting with caustic ingredients. Now fully covered, his waistcoat laced tightly in the back, Ink smiled, turned around in front of the mirror once, and left the room to eat.
In the hallway there was no one, and he wondered how much time had passed. Hugging the edge of the stairs to avoid creaks, he slipped down to the first floor and back to the kitchen. There were voices, but he was wrapped up in lovely clothes that would protect him, and carefully opened the door.
An entire gaggle of children were around the table, along with all the adults from before. They looked at Ink when he entered, and the boy suddenly realised what Mrs. Weasley had meant. A huge number of the children had red hair. Feeling awkward, he remained standing, his face blank as he took in the people while they took him in.
"I'm Hermione Granger." A girl with brown corkscrew curls said, standing and holding out her hand. Now that he was allowed to initiate contact Ink felt manners take over, and he took her offered hand, bowing over it silently rather than kissing it. She blushed, and smiled.
"Would you like to sit next to us?" she asked, still a little flustered. Some of the children squeezed over reluctantly. Ink sat, and served himself tiny portions of everything, eating it all separately.
"Are you obsessive-compulsive?" Hermione asked quietly, curious. Ink looked up, thought, then went back to eating without answering. He liked this girl already. She was curious. That meant she was smart.
"Well, are you?" A dark-haired boy asked after a long pause.
"What's obsessive-compulsive mean, Hermione?" a girl with red hair piped up.
"It's a type of mental disorder," the man with the scratch-scars on his face said, from a few seats down. "And no, I don't think Ink has it, Hermione. He's been through quite a bit, is all."
"Like what?"
"I do." Ink said suddenly, looking up at the man. "Like schedule. Like to sort." He looked back at his food. "Like schedule�" he whispered softer.
"Oh�and now it's all been ruined, hasn't it�?" Hermione reached over to comfort and Ink cried out, pulling away so violently he fell onto the floor. He fled the room and they heard him running up the stairs.
"�He was a prisoner, wasn't he?" Harry asked in the silence. When no one answered, he looked at the adults. "Wasn't he?"
"Actually no one knows," Tonks said taking a gulp of milk. "He just showed up with Snape, then Snape had to leave suddenly."
Hermione shifted nervously, poking at her mashed potatoes. "�I hope he's not a cutter�" she said softly, worried.
"And a cutter is�?" Ron asked, visions of a madman with a razor blade jumping to mind.
Hermione sighed. "Honestly, don't you have names for it in the magical world? A cutter is someone who cuts himself because he thinks he deserves punishment or he feels numb or he wants help and feels like no one is listening to him."
"�Well if 'he' doesn't talk, we can't very well know 'he' needs help." Sirius said idly, leaning on the back two legs of his chair. Moody barked out a harsh laugh.
"He's been living with an occlumens, Black. He hasn't needed to talk, and his keeper likes the quiet."
"Alastair!" Mrs. Weasley scolded. "Not in front of the children!"
"Snape's been using occlumency on him all the time?" Hermione was aghast. "Oh god, that poor thing!"
"And occlumency is, Miss Encyclopaedia?" Harry prompted.
"Mind-reading," Hermione said. "It can change memories too, and sometimes it's used in therapy for amnesia; but it's also used by Dark wizards for torture."
"No," came a voice from the doorway. Ink was back, drawn by hunger.
"No indeed," Moody said with a smirk. Ink's pale cheeks flushed, and he looked down, folding his arms.
"Twenty three. Can do what I want," he hissed stubbornly, leaning against the doorframe. "Is Master back?"
"Not yet," Kingsley said with a comforting smile. Ink turned to leave, but was stopped by Harry's voice.
"He's got a name," Harry said, angry on the poor creature's behalf. Snape had taken advantage of the fragile mental state, obviously. "It's Snape. You can call him that."
Ink just looked at him blankly, then slowly raised a brow. "�I know�" he answered, still whispering. In a flash of hunger, he snatched up his still-full cup of milk before leaving. Milk was enough for now.
~.oOo.~
Snape had a desire to return to his pet, and so instead of pacing the streets where he was working for the night, he returned to the room in Grimmauld place. The boy had unpacked for them, and Snape wondered what method had been used to sort the books and bottles, until he noticed that it was a visual pattern. Turning to the bed he found his boy rushing to him, completely naked.
"Master!" he wrapped his arms around Snape, quiet but overjoyed. "Master�" he nuzzled the dark robes, inhaling deeply. So, the wizard thought as he stroked the loosely-braided hair. This is what it's like to come home when someone cares. Gently, he pushed into Ink's mind to see what had happened that day. The boy moaned in his throat and clung tighter, shivering with pleasure both physical and mental.
Pulling apart the memories since he'd been gone, Snape noted Moody's treatment and felt his lip curl. Being a spy, Snape knew the practicality of paranoia�but this was too far. No one was allowed to touch his pet's mind. Ink trembled and buried his face, and the potions master let him.
"You fight it well." His voice was soft and nigh-emotionless, a hand splayed on the pet's head. "Good boy. Why are you naked?"
I sleep naked now. I was waiting for you.
The thoughts overlapped, along with the wordless memory of Ink rolling around in the silk sheets jubilantly. The innocence of the memory made Snape smile just a little.
Come to bed? Please?
Snape gave the head a final pet before gesturing at the bed. As Ink cheerfully wiggled back underneath the warm duvet, Snape began to undress for bed. He slid under the silk-covered duvet with Ink, wearing his pyjamas. However, Ink's nudity invited touch and the boy moaned softly as his master ran hands over his skin.

Mine, mine, MINE.
Yours, yours�oh master please don't go away�.
"Don't whine, boy." Snape admonished. The thoughts immediately ceased, though they were replaced by sadness. "It's only two months," he added, and the boy's happiness was reward enough. It felt so warm and inviting; really, it was not difficult to see why he babied Ink. The creature was properly grateful, and obedient. Snape smiled as he fell asleep, holding Ink close. His Ink. His boy. No one would take Ink away from him, because Ink wouldn't let them. That made all the difference.
"My good boy," Snape murmured with a smile.
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- 4
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The Pet