She woke to an empty room.
Her first thoughts were fearful. What if he forgot about her or one of his followers found her here? Would she be returned back to the dark?
She thought herself round in circles before logic dispelled the dangerous thoughts. It was the Dark Lord, no mere Death Eater would be wondering around his private rooms. He wouldn't forget about her either, hadn't her visited her whilst she was in the dark?
Of course he had, she wasn't going to be forgotten. She could rely on him now, so it was time to get out of bed and focus on her new situation.
So that's what she did. With a determined shove at the covers she climbed out of the soft bed, ready to face the day.
She stood in her clean nightgown, scrunching her toes against the carpet, wondering what she should do now.
The crisp white against the dark wood of the side table alerted her to the presence of the note. His writing was clear and concise, no needless strokes or hesitations, just as you would expect from so powerful a being. She nodded to herself as she went towards the bathroom, they were perfectly good instructions, shower and dress in the robes found in the bathroom.
Logical, clear and easy to follow. Just what she needed.
As Hermione showered she considered her luck. He knew how to take care of her, already he had provided her with shelter, water and clothes. He could have tortured and degraded her. Instead, he was being, dare she think it, kind.
She delighted in the feeling of the warm water pounding at her skin, and was thrilled with the soapy bubbles covering her and getting rid of the dry skin. She felt warm, clean and happy. Just as he said she would.
The towels were soft and fluffy, pleasantly drying her pink new skin. She giggled as the enchanted towels flicked her nose to get the small drips of water.
The robes were an emerald green but looked to be far too big for her slight frame. Hermione frowned, but remembering the note, put them on regardless. She was right, and the emerald fabric swamped her. As if hearing her thoughts, the cloth suddenly started to move, refitting itself around her until it was the correct size. The mirror revealed the uniqueness of these robes however, Hermione remembered the baggy black ones forced on the Hogwarts students, but these were more form fitting. They revealed curves and a daring cleavage, whilst only going mid knee. Hermione wondered if there were any shoes to go with the beautiful outfit, but then, she thought, if they were needed they would be here. Her Lord said she could rely on him for everything, and that meant shoes as well.
With a nod to her reflection she walked out of the bathroom.
And promptly went still.
In the leather wing backed chair just left of the fire place sat the Dark Lord. She froze, unsure how to proceed. Should she go to him or stay still. He may want to be left alone, but what if she offends him by not greeting him. He had been so kind to her, she couldn't be rude it return. These thoughts twisted round her mind, but despite knowing that she should move, take one step in his direction, she was completely frozen in place. He was the Dark Lord, and she was a Mudblood. She had no right to go near him without being told to first. Hermione was to look to him in all things, so surely if that included shoes it would include how he wanted her to behave in his presence.
"Why are you standing over there, little witch?" he asked.
"I don't know." She whispered in reply.
"I've brought you some food."
He waved a hand, and a house-elf appeared carrying a silver tray. The small creature placed it on the table carefully, before disappearing with a hurried crack.
He looked over at Hermione, still frozen over by the bathroom. The robes were beautiful on her, as he knew they would be, sophisticated and seductive, a fit combination for the conquered Gryffindor Princess.
"Won't you sit with me?" he waved his hand once more, this time conjuring a small stall for her to sit on. It was the perfect height for her to be able to eat on the table, but would also show her place. After all, for all intents and purposes, the armchair was his throne and no one was to sit higher than the King.
Hermione knew this as she sat on the specially conjured stall, but she also knew that he could have just let her sit on the floor. He didn't even have to give her food. He had proven that it was possible to keep her alive through Dark Magic. Once more, Hermione marvelled, he was being generous and kind to one so below him.
This close to him she could feel the waves of his magic brushing against her. She had been so tired last night she hadn't noticed, but now she knew without a doubt that the entire war had been hopeless from the beginning. There was no way a teenaged boy would have been able to beat the being behind her now.
Harry had died for nothing.
Unbidden tears pricked at her eyes, and tiny rivers flowed gently down her cheeks. The Lord behind her noticed, but chose to ignore them in favour of making his little witch eat. The task was unfamiliar to her body after so long spent in isolation, and soon she could only focus on bring food to her lips rather than things she could not change.
Eventually she had to stop, the plate in front of her only half eaten.
"Do you not like it?" her Lord asked quietly. His hand settled in her hair, teasing it lightly with his fingers, affection and control all in one small movement.
"I'm sorry." She whispered once more, unable to raise her voice any louder. "I can't eat any more."
The movement in her hair stopped, and Hermione was terrified she'd displeased him, but then it lightly continued and she relaxed.
"My apologies, little witch, I should have had them make something lighter."
His words struck her as wrong and she twisted round, falling to her knees beside him and dislodging his hand with her movements.
"No, it was lovely!" she protested. "You've given me so much already, you shouldn't have to be sorry for this."
Her Lord smiled at her, replacing his hand back in her hair, watching the bliss in her eyes grow as he petted her ever so gently.
"I'm so thankful to you." She continued, daring to inch closer to the man with so much power over her.
"I am a merciful Lord." He told her, his voice as gentle as his hands. "And I look after my pets."
"Pets?" she repeated with a frown, recalling him using that term a few times before.
"Don't you want to be my pet?" he cajoled her, still lightly stroking her hair. "Don't you want to be taken care of, to be protected and happy? Haven't you spent this day completely happy knowing that you can rely on me for all things?"
Hermione nodded, there was no point in arguing with truth.
"I can give you endless days of that joy, if you just obey me in all things."
Hermione looked into his ruby eyes, losing herself in the richness of the colour and soothing movement of his hand in her hair.
Really there was no choice in the matter.
Whether she liked it or not, she was already his Pet.
And it didn't bother her at all.
