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.
A/N- I would like to thank Eclectic Pet my beta for helping me to revise this drabble! This is a short piece I wrote for a drabble challenge for a Hermione/Voldemort forum I am a member of. The challenge was to write an epilog to a story that was never written. The story had to begin with “…19 years later.”
He watches as his subjects part for the woman with the girl’s face. The people in the crowd would always be changing now as he and his pet were locked in time. As she gets to the stairs leading up to the dais she gives him a playful smirk and steps over the spot the rest of his people must kneel and show tribute. That place is not for her. That place is for the lesser, mortal creatures that he rules.
She steps up so close that the fold of her dress brushes his robes before kneeling to him respectfully. Her cheek rests on his knee while her mass of curls settles into his lap. He can’t help but stroke his fingers through those locks.
“How may I serve you, my Lord Voldemort?” she asks as she always does. The only one still willing to speak his name.
“It seems I have a present for today, my pet,” he says before lifting her chin so she will look up into his eyes.
With his index finger tucked under her chin and her curious amber eyes looking up at him boldly, even from the submissive position, he ran his thumb over her lips. The lips he owned almost completely. Every man who had ever touched them but him was long dead now, save one.
“Bring the prisoner in,” he tells his guard without taking his eyes off of his favorite creature.
A few silent minutes later they both heard the huff and groan of a man being tossed at the stairs of the dais.
“I have someone new for you to kill for me, pet. You are allowed to be as creative as you like,” he told her before motioning with his head to the man behind her.
She turned her head as he let go of her chin, but did not rise from kneeling. The man they spoke of was a bloody, crumpled mess on the floor. It seemed that his guards had not been kind to their newest guest. It wasn’t like he could blame them. The man was the leader of the rebellion and had caused many of their brothers’ deaths.
As the scarred redhead looked up at him with his pet he whimpered. “Please…” the pathetic man groans as he tries to sit up. “Please Hermione…” The rebel adds making most of the room flinch. That name was feared almost as much as Voldemort’s himself. Most referred to her as the Dark Pet now or my Lady.
“He needs to be healed first, my Lord, ” the woman kneeling at his feet says. “You know I like a clean canvas and your guards have broken this one,” she said actually pouting as she looked back at him.
“We were friends,” the idiot on the floor continues, “We were going to get married.”
Hermione finally looks back at the man with a curious expression on her face. Voldemort slips his fingers back into her hair, pulling at the roots tightly as a reminder of who she belongs to.
“Ronald, how can you be so stupid and have lasted this long?” she asks and there is actual pity in her voice. “I’ve killed Harry, why wouldn’t I kill you?”