Untitled HP fic by shinchansgirl
Chapter One

Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: (eventual) Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
WARNINGS: Harry-abuse; minor character death; mentioned probable deaths of major characters (none confirmed, beyond some of those that die in the books - if you don't want spoilers, don't read); cat-boy!Harry; slavery-type setting; Voldemort-wins scenario; AU/AR
Spoilers: deviation of plot; books 1 through 3 hold

NOTE: I started this at least a year or two ago, and apparently around that time I had an obsession with cat!Harry, so be warned.




It was over. That was it � no big parades or fancy celebrations, no loud fireworks and parties. The war was simply over.

And Voldemort had won.

To some, this had come as a surprise; who would have thought the Boy-Who-Lived could lose... But in the end he had proven to be just what his name implied: a boy. A boy with no idea how to fight a Dark Lord and win. Hogwarts hadn't been the final battle, it had been the first. Harry Potter hadn't been given the chance to learn how to fight.

After that, the structure of the wizarding world had crumbled like a deck of cards, bowing to Voldemort's will.

The students of Hogwarts had been herded into cells that hadn't seen use since the school had truly been a castle, and they were, for the most part, in rough shape. Scared and hurt, those who opposed Voldemort hadn't found comfort for close to a week, and had suffered from lack of adequate food and water. Their wands had been taken, their pride smashed - or at least crushed - and many were still in shock, or denial.

They could not deny that the sons and daughters of Death Eaters had it much better than they had; they had never been forced down into the cells, they were probably living in luxury at the moment.

It seemed like ages since their last meal. It was impossible to tell the time, and hunger was a sharp pain that never ceased. No one knew when it would be quelled, either. Every once and again a Death Eater would come down and march off two or three students, even longer waits marked times when bread scraps were tossed through the cell bars. The students never returned; the food was never enough.

Harry hoped that those who had left had been granted a quick death; they did not deserve torture.

"You three, up." Harry started as his cell door banged open. The man was sneering at them, looking at them like they were slow children who could not be taught, but no one dared to speak up and correct the thought � no one dared to.

No one wanted more pain.

Harry moved to help Justine - a Ravenclaw he'd never met before finding himself inside this cell - to stand on her twisted ankle. Maneuvering up the stairs proved difficult, but somehow they managed to keep up with the fast-moving, wand-wielding Death Eater. A frightened first year trailed behind them, wringing his hands.

The boy hadn't spoken since he�d found himself in the cell, he'd just clenched his hands together until the knuckles showed white, and paced.

And paced.

It had been slowly driving Harry crazy with nervous energy, but he would have taken more pacing over facing Voldemort.

They passed the potions lab - which was now simply collecting dust - and the empty rooms that hadn't seen any use even when classes had been in session. Justine limped her way along - with Harry's help - and followed the Death Eater down the familiar path to the Great Hall.

It looked different from the last time they had entered it. The two center tables had been removed to make the aisle wider - to put them on display, Harry thought with an inward sneer, like animals. Their progress was slow due to the limp Justine kept, giving her helper ample time to notice the students crouched at the feet of their elders, most with a chain or cloth connecting from around their necks to a Death Eater's wrist.

Like a parade of pets, Harry imagined, excepted these were the scared and abused pets that were usually taken away from people. And they all looked sad, as well - some looked at him, and he could swear he saw betrayal in their eyes. There was nothing he could do.

He saw Fred and George on opposite sides of the Hall, each looking lost and alone without the other. Several seventh years he couldn't name had lived - more were missing. There had only been ten of that year in Gryffindor - maybe thirty total that hadn't been spared.

Harry counted seven left. Not even a whole house.

The trio stopped, huddling in the center of the Hall when they realized that they were alone - their escort had stopped by the door, smirking. Harry couldn't help but realize that they really were like trapped animals, hoping for escape.

The first year wrung his hands, looking at the remaining students on their hands and knees on the cold stone floor. The boys wearing only trousers, girls with a short skirt and top; it was as if they weren't worth more than that.

Something moved at Voldemort's feet, and the first year ran back the way they had come - towards the door.

Harry shouted "No!" at the same moment the killing curse slipped from Voldemort's mouth.

The body hit the floor with a dull thud, and Harry clutched Justine tighter. Harry hadn't even known the boy's name, and now that poor, scared little first year was gone.

He knew now why he didn't see Ron, or Seamus, or many of the others he knew. They would have fought. They would have run.

They would have died.

That movement again - it was Draco Malfoy, lazing at Voldemort's feet like the ultimate pampered pet. He wasn't on any sort of leash, however, and he didn't hold the same, sad, scared look that the others did. He clearly felt himself above all the others kneeling at someone else's feet - and he just as clearly was justified in that belief.

His body was draped against the side of the throne Voldemort sat in, his legs curled under him where he sat on an ornate black and green cushion. His eyes were locked on Harry, twinkling with merriment that the dark-haired boy had never seen in school.

Voldemort's magic pulled both Harry and Justine forward, forcing them to sprawl out on the floor before the dais his throne was raised on, and Harry heard Justine cry out in pain.

He scrambled to his knees as he heard the Dark Lord rise from the ornate chair and approach them.

"Harry Potter," the snake-like voice hissed from before them - where the teacher's table had once stood, and the podium the Headmaster had spoken at. Harry swallowed heavily, remembering that Dumbledore was dead. "Still trying to be the hero, I see."

Harry didn't answer, turning away from everything to pull Justine into his arms. "You ok?" he asked her.

She was pale, and one hand gripped her calf tightly, not quite daring to go as far as her ankle, but she nodded.

"As I said," Voldemort drawled. "Still trying to be the hero." The wand twirled idly in his hand. "Would anyone like to claim the girl?"

No one spoke, and Harry looked around once more at the chained students. It suddenly clicked - and felt foolish for not understanding sooner. Naive as he was, he wasn't that innocent still.

They were pets. Honest-to-god pets. He hadn't thought that his analogy would turn out to be so...literal.

"No takers?" the Dark Lord asked. "Very well."

Harry was holding a dead body before he had a chance to protest. "Justine?" he whispered, noticing she had gone limp suddenly. He hadn't even seen the curse. "Justine? No - come on, wake up."

"She's dead, Potter," Voldemort told him, voice flat - it was a mere statement of fact, and it needed no embellishment. "And, as a mudblood, it was bound to happen eventually."

Harry did his best not to listen to the words, pulling the too-still body close. It was getting cold - bodies weren't meant to be that cold. He didn't notice that he was shaking until he heard footsteps approaching him, and he stilled.

Instinctively, knowing from many bouts with his Uncle and his cousin, Dudley, Harry ducked his head down and shuffled backwards, never rising, pulling the heavy weight of Justine�s body with him.

"Scared, Potter?" Voldemort sneered. "I wouldn't worry if I were you - death is not the end I had planned for you just yet. You have yet to be punished for your many transgressions. Aside from that, I have my doubts as to whether or not you can actually be killed by the killing curse. Your mother's magic was strong, no doubt - death can produce a great deal of magic, you see - but I do know that you can still be hurt by other spells.

"And if you hurt a man long enough, Harry, he will wish he was dead. Would you like that as your fate?"

He reached out a hand again, his words a strong contrast to his tone, and once more Harry ducked backwards.

"Milord?" Draco called out, his voice loud in the silence, despite how softly he spoke.

"Yes, my pet?"

"I...I'm not sure, but I don't think you're the one he's afraid of. Potter's never really liked being touched, that I can remember, and the one time someone went to touch his hair he nearly wet himself." Harry paled as the blonde boy spoke, ducking down even further, his nose almost buried in Justine's hair - even the thin brown strands were limp. So what if he didn't like others touching him? It wasn't that big of a deal - and if anyone else had grown up with a cousin like Dudley, no doubt they'd turn out the same way.

"It is somewhat unusual to dislike touch," Voldemort conceded. "But not unheard of."

"I think he's hiding something."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry hissed under his breath. He hadn't meant for anyone else to hear, but Voldemort's eyebrows shot up as his ears picked up on the near-silent command.

"Accio Harry Potter," he called out.

Swear words slipped from Harry's mouth " words he'd never have gotten away with using in school - as he flew through the air and landed hard against Voldemort's chest. At least, he thought it was hard, but while he was winded Voldemort seemed hardly to notice at all. He had an arm around Harry's waist before they had fully collided, trapping Harry's arms at his sides, and the second hand had all but flown to Harry's scar.

The dark-haired boy screamed in pain, his world exploding in his mind as he was both overwhelmed by power and drained of it. He could feel the other wizard rummaging around in his head, pushing against his shields, looking for spells - collapsing those he found. Harry could only feel the pain of the connection, the shock of having a second wizard in his mind, taking his power and replacing it with a foreign magic.

Voldemort attacked his spells from the inside - spells he had all but forgotten were there, they had been such a part of him - and his magic fell back whimpering inside him, licking its wounds like a frightened dog, drained and injured.

Harry felt like he'd just done several laps around the lake, followed by lessons with Snape, McGonagall, and Flitwick back-to-back and repeatedly for days. He panted, weak, with Voldemort's arm around him all that kept him from falling to the floor in a heap.

The hand was off his scar now - it took a few moments for Harry to realize that he was being pet instead, the thin, spidery hand running through his hair.

He didn't hear Draco's question, but Voldemort's answer made it through the fuzz in his head.

"Mister Potter has had some invisibility and disillusionment charms worked into a few of the more...unusual features he carries. I have, for the time being, snapped them. His magic is much too depleted now to restore them, and he's too weak to fight against anything I place on him. The spells seem to have been on him for quite some time; they were old, and feeding off his magic, but he didn't seem to notice where they were to protect them."

Harry whimpered, trying to pull away, but he could barely stand as it was.

He was staring straight into Fred's wide eyes, seeing the shock on his face, and nearly cried at the soft, sad, keening sound that left his throat. He couldn't stop it. It was embarrassing and humiliating enough to stand there looking as he was, the sounds...but he couldn't stop them. When the second sad note escaped him, Harry no longer had the sense of mind to stop his tears.

"Harry, Harry," Voldemort nearly whispered - in the silence of the Hall, however, it was more than loud enough to carry. "It's not so bad. These are a mark of power, you see, no doubt passed down from the prestige of your father's line. They are something to be proud of. It certainly explains why the cat was a part of the Potter family crest." Voldemort was scratching behind one of Harry's drooping, black, pointed cat ears; it felt good, but not nearly good enough to distract the dark-haired boy from the lingering pain and embarrassment. And fear. "I'd wager that Dumbledore never told you what you were, did he? My little Hellcat."

Harry tried to pull away once more, but he was just so tired, and weak, that his protests and struggles weren't having much of an effect at all. The Hall had burst into packets of whispers at the - nickname? Was that what he was? - but it was the elder Malfoy who dared to speak over the crowd. "My Lord, does this mean that you will be claiming the boy yourself?"

"Being a feuin is nothing to be ashamed of, Lucius," Voldemort replied. "They aren't flighty and sensitive like the wood nymphs, nor beautiful and endearing like the water sprites. No - the animal spirits are in a class all of their own. Powerful, depending on the animal, and uniquely magical. A blend of human and animal, beauty and strength." He let out a sound that might have been a laugh. "The cats, especially, are known to be...somewhat promiscuous. I think he might make a lovely companion for your son, seeing as how I am away so often." Harry shuddered, both at the unfamiliar word and the hand that trailed down his chin - he didn't like it, not at all. "Of course, he'll have to settle for just your son; we wouldn't want him to catch anything by messing around, now would we?"

Harry didn't look up to see the reaction, he could only see Fred frowning, and another girl behind him with her face as red as a tomato, a hand over her mouth.

"Something isn't quite right here, as well. One would think that the old fool would have embellished these traits, and sought to enhance them. I will need to find out just why our dear Mister Potter is not what he seems."

Harry was shaking at this point, trying to pull away. Fred's face was pale, as if he'd just realized something, and the boy next to him looked nearly green. The girl was still red-faced, but it looked more like embarrassment than anything - still, it scared him. Voldemort, however, picked him up as easily as if he were a small child and carried him to the dais to place Harry in Draco's lap. "Take care of him, pet, and do try to calm him down. He's no good to anyone half-wild with fear."

Draco nodded, mumbling a 'yes, milord' before the Dark Lord sat down again.

"Bring us in the next group," he said, his voice booming across the Hall without much effort.

The blonde shifted Harry so that the dark-haired boy was laying down with his face buried in Draco's stomach, his chest on top of the other boy's stretched-out legs, and Draco's back against what looked to be a box. Harry imagined it was there just for Draco to lean against, and make himself comfortable. He tried to shift his face away from the blonde's bare stomach - like the others, he only wore a pair of trousers - but even Draco's slight form was enough to hold him in place, and keep his head from turning to see what was happening further down the Hall. To see who was next - to see who was killed without mercy.

There was a soft, gentle hand in his hair again, accompanied by a light humming sound he could feel reverberating in the chest he laid on, and Harry felt himself collapse into the embrace - if it could be called that. He felt useless; even Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin prince who had probably never lifted anything heavier than a book in his life, was strong enough to keep him in place. He was simply too weak to do anything.

He buried his face in the smooth skin, trying not to think about what he was doing. He didn't stop the silent tears when, a few minutes later, he realized that a second hum - his own purring - had accompanied Draco's. Eventually, long before Voldemort had finished for the day, Harry felt himself drift into an exhausted sleep.

TBC...