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Severus was contemplating the very unwelcome information he had discovered, that of Harry Potter’s placement. Albus had assured him on an often enough basis (entirely unprompted at that, too) of the boy’s happy and loving living conditions. Severus had, entirely by chance (was it, though?) seen a letter from Mrs Figg (whom he remembered at least vaguely as part of the Order) regarding Potter—from Little Whinging, Surrey.
He had been fairly certain no self-respecting wix would ever live in a place with a name like that, but now that he had a location, he felt obligated to investigate. He was smart about it, silent, unseen. He found Mrs Figg’s home on Wisteria Walk. He found where Harry Potter was.
Petunia.
Just one word, one name, and he knew just how bad it could be, how bad it likely was. And it was, once he set about spying to see the picture in more detail. This was not the loving and happy living conditions as touted by Albus. Petunia and her fat muggle husband used the boy as a house-elf, an abused house-elf at that. The son bullied him relentlessly. The child was worked hard, physically harmed (even by Petunia—but given what a spiteful, jealous bitch she was he could not be surprised) if he dared to do better than the son, or showed accidental magic of any kind, regularly starved, and apparently called a small cupboard tucked in under the staircase a bedroom.
Now that he knew his vow would not allow him to pretend he had found nothing and simply walk away. He paused in his gathering of aconite when he heard the sound of many hooves, and stood up. The centaurs generally left him alone, knowing that he only ever entered to collect ingredients, and that he respected the forest, as well as never over-picked.
The centaurs spotted him and slowed down, which gave him an opportunity.
“Pardon me, but I was wondering if you would indulge my curiosity on a particular matter?” he asked, having had a sudden idea of how to keep Potter safe without having to deal with the child ever coming to the school in a few years.
The leader of the group came to a full stop. “On what would that be?”
“How difficult is it for your herd to find brood mares, and what are the common problems connected to new brood mares?”
The leader (and most of the others) did a slow blink. “It is not often that usable wix wander too deep into the forest, Severus Snape. Those who do are old enough that they do not take the transition well. There is a great deal of pain involved for them at first, and much in the way of emotional outbursts, and the need for repeated healing until our magic completes the necessary changes so they can be bred.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “And if I had a potential brood mare for you? A young one, young enough that it would be a few years before he could be bred. One young enough that he could be swayed into wholehearted belief that the position is a great honor. What preparatory actions would make sense before he was turned over to the herd?”
“Why this potential brood mare, and so young?”
“Several reasons. First is that I vowed to protect the boy due to him being his mother’s child, but I also despise the boy due to him being his father’s son. Albus has wrapped his current situation in a web of lies, but I have discovered the truth of it. I could fulfill my vow by getting him ready to be taken on by your herd as a brood mare, where I would expect he would be kept protected, healthy, and productive. He, as yet, seems to have no notion of magic, so whatever you saw fit to teach him would be the world of magic for him.
“Second is that he does, unfortunately, suffer the moniker of Boy-Who-Lived. I can already see the expectations of my fellow wixen. Given that the child has been placed with muggles who abuse, starve, and work him half to death, I should think life as a brood mare would seem infinitely more pleasurable once he was in the right mind-set, rather than a life of never being able to meet the expectations of thousands of wixen and beset by those looking to take advantage of a muggle-raised child.
“Third is that should the Dark Lord ever manage to return, I should like the boy kept well away from the man. No child should ever be expected to take on the protection of an entire community of adults, and I expect that Albus would groom him to carry that weight as an inevitability. To that end, I would ensure he could never be located by any wixen, and would remain safe with your herd, providing a valuable service.”
They seemed contemplative more than disgusted, which boded well.
“We shall discuss this offer with the herd leader, Severus Snape. Return to the forest in seven moons and we shall have a response.”
He nodded. “I will return in one week.”
When he left the forest he had high hopes. He could keep to his vow to protect the child, while never having to deal with him again beyond a short amount of time. And it might be vastly amusing to see Albus lose his mind wondering where the child had disappeared to, and the reactions of so many children mystified and upset over not getting to meet the “hero”.
One week later saw him back in the forest and prepared with a mental list of things he could do to the boy to prepare him for a life as a brood mare, a never-ending succession of centaur studs breeding the child to gain new foals for their herd, possibly even enough to maintain more than one herd. He was collecting dittany when he heard the sound of them arriving, and straightened as he tucked his bounty away in a collection box.
“Severus Snape,” said a chestnut-coloured centaur. “I am Magorian, leader of the herd. We come to discuss your offer.”
He inclined his head in something between a nod and a gesture of respect.
“The child is how old?”
“Seven, nearly eight. Young enough to mentally adapt in the time between being taken and being bred, and depending on how your magic works, physically adapt, plus whatever potions, spells, or rituals I can perform to further that adaptation.”
“Interesting. You asked of the difficulties with new brood mares.”
“Indeed.”
“One such difficulty is that their bodies are not by nature designed to accommodate our size during breeding. It takes time for our magic to work, and during that time there is a great deal of pain and bleeding for the mare.”
He nodded. “There is a spell I could use. It is technically a humiliation torture curse, which would permanently gape the child’s arsehole. I would merely need to know the minimum size before it was cast. The child’s memory could be altered so that he believed he was born that way.”
“And we would have to assure the child is it not his fault and that he is to pay it no mind. Though…” Magorian paused. “Is it possible to alter memories such that the child harbors a lingering shame? Our consistent words of comfort would then serve to endear us to him.”
“That is possible, yes. I could also destroy his ability to control his bladder if that would help,” he said, carefully concealing the wild sense of glee he was feeling. Protect the boy he would, but he wanted to do it his way, and part of that was getting proxy revenge on James Potter, with humiliation, shame, and the life of a breeder slave.
Magorian nodded. “Acceptable. While our magic can and will turn a male wix capable of bearing young…”
He nodded again. “There is a ritual I can do to convert the boy prior to turning him over. I would also assess his health and correct as much as possible, so he is turned over to the herd as healthy as he can be.”
“We find it distasteful that male brood mares have body hair,” Magorian said.
“Also something which can be permanently prevented, as well as something to ensure his teeth are always clean, and thus never suffer decay or rot.”
“Acceptable. Mares are always bathed in tubs on all fours.”
“That can be added to the memory alterations. Do you chain them to a stable so they cannot escape?”
Magorian nodded. “Of course. Brood mares are too valuable to be allowed full freedom of movement.”
“If need be I can come up with a collar which would adjust size up to a certain point, and be permanently closed, at least until death, along with unbreakable chains to ensure the mare never leaves his designated stable. I have already found various methods whereby my fellow wixen would never be able to locate the mare,” he said, already speaking as if it was a foregone conclusion that the Potter child would be accepted as an offering.
“His parents were both quite intelligent,” he added, “so he could be taught to help the herd in other ways during the hours he is not being bred. All wixen children have accidental magic, and some schools teach without wands, so the mare could be taught whatever magics you allow while he is still too young to be bred, and even after.”
He paused a moment. “I can leave in him a strong compulsion to always obey the herd. And I suppose if this mare works out well in terms of being adapted young, I could be on the lookout for young and abused muggle-born males who could be similarly offered up as brood mares for your herd.”
Magorian smiled, which was a vaguely threatening expression. “I approve, but only after this mare has proven the methods. We will accept the little mare either way, but should your methods serve to greatly ease the transition, that would be welcomed. Send an owl when the little mare is ready to be given over to us and we shall meet here again the next day. As for the size…” Magorian demonstrated with his hands.
Severus inclined his head again, still somewhere between a nod and a gesture of respect, and waited until Magorian led his people away before he himself turned to exit the forest. He waited until he was safely inside his own home before a malicious smile appeared. The child he vowed to protect would be protected, but also dehumanized and used as a breeding slave. He couldn’t ask for more, really.
Getting to Potter away from his disgusting muggle “family” was relatively simple. He waited until the child had wandered off to a sad little park in the area and sat on a swing, rather forlornly swinging back and forth. Bruises bloomed on his stick-thin arms and even his face.
Severus quietly approached, badly startling the boy once he was noticed, but he moved at a slow, steady pace before coming to a stop nearby. “I’ve been looking for you for some time.”
Harry looked at him warily with green eyes so like Lily’s, which made sense. Severus did not look like a nice person. He was also an adult, and he rather doubted there were many, if any, adults the boy trusted.
“Your mother and I grew up together in Cokeworth. It was I who recognized she had a kind of magic.”
The boy scoffed scornfully. “There is no such thing as magic.”
He had come prepared for that kind of reaction. He could not use active magic to prove anything to the boy, but he could use memories. He had a pensieve and planned to demonstrate, as he rather doubted the child would be trusting enough to touch what looked like liquid silver or mercury without some assurances.
“Will you let me show you?” he asked, choosing to settle on the ground so as to appear less threatening.
“Making flowers appear out of your sleeve isn’t magic.”
“Indeed, it is not, and I have no intention of showing you parlour tricks. I’m going to show you your mother, in a far better way than watching people on the telly.”
Harry continued to look distrustful and wary as Severus extracted a small pensieve from his pocket, along with a vial. The pensieve was set down long enough for him to uncork the memory and pour it inside, then the vial was re-corked and tucked away.
“And that does what?”
“You simply touch the liquid,” he said. “Observe.” He then placed a finger onto the surface of the memory—which, realistically, was taking a huge risk, but it was a very short memory, so he would not be vulnerable for long—and watched one of his own memories of Lily. When he came back awareness the child seemed less wary.
“All you did was touch it. Nothing else happened.” The child looked curious despite himself.
“Nothing appeared to happen,” he gently corrected. “Touching the liquid allows you to experience the memory, as if you were there as a ghost.”
Harry frowned and bit his lip, then slipped off the swing and knelt next to the pensieve. After another pause, the child reached out and touched the memory.
‘And now I have him,’ he thought. ‘A few longer ones and he’ll be ready to believe, and ready to let me take him away from that disgusting family.’
Harry came back to awareness a minute later with a look of wonder on his face. “That was you, younger. And the girl—she was my mother?”
“Indeed. Would you like to experience a longer memory?”
“Yes,” the boy said eagerly.
Snape nodded and retrieved the memory back to its vial, then added a much longer memory, an innocent one of summer and friendship and wandless magic.
Harry touched the memory quickly and was gone for half an hour, emerging with a smile on his face. “She seems so nice,” he said wistfully.
“She was,” he said quietly. “Another?”
“Yes, please.”
Severus swapped out the memory for another, and kept guard as the boy immersed his consciousness into it. Another innocent memory, but this one was eventually marred by Petunia’s jealousy. Petunia wasn’t a witch, and she couldn’t stand that her pretty younger sister was. She hated Severus for “taking Lily away” from her, and because he also had magic.
Harry emerged from that one with a scowl. “She knew.”
“She did. And you are her sister’s son, left for her to raise. I would imagine she is not nice.”
Harry shook his head slightly, almost as if afraid to admit that.
“I think,” he said slowly, deliberately, “that your mother would want you to have a happy and safe life, not whatever Petunia thinks is appropriate.”
Harry’s expression turned oddly cynical for a child so young. “And how would I get that?”
“You come with me,” he said. “I have a family in mind for you, one where you’ll be protected, fed more than starvation rations, not expected to do every chore, and even cherished in some ways. You would certainly not be hit or kicked or beaten. You would be appreciated and taught.”
“Magic?” Harry asked quietly.
“Yes,” he replied, though he had no idea what the centaurs might teach him by way of magic. It mattered little in the end, so long as it served as enticement.
“When?”
“Right now, if you like. I can take you to a safe place and see just how badly they have harmed you, and see about correcting those things. And once you are healthy again—which would not take overlong due to magic—I would take you to your new family.”
Harry hesitated, probably torn between the known and the unknown, then nodded firmly. “I’ll do it.”
“All right.” He retrieved the memory into its vial and tucked it away, along with the pensieve, then stood up, reaching down a hand to the boy. “The first part of our journey will seem mundane, but once we arrive at an appropriate place, it will be magical. And then I’ll see to helping your health to recover.”
The house was a place Albus had never known of. It was heavily warded and unplottable, and he had prepared a bedroom for the boy. He had tried to make the place seem homey enough to be comfortable and inviting, though it was sketchy on the details. It only had to hold until the boy fell asleep, which was when Severus would strike like a snake.
Harry seemed quite tired out by the journey, though Severus handing over a boxed meal served to divert the boy’s attention. Nothing too heavy, nothing too hard to digest, just to feed and distract him. At the house he had Harry sit on the sofa so he could cast diagnostics. The boy was appropriately awed at a quill and parchment appearing out of nowhere and the quill busily writing away as the spell worked.
He sighed, a deliberate action, and shook his head slightly. “It seems there is much to do. I may be able to correct your eyesight while I am healing everything else.”
“Wow,” Harry breathed.
“For now, I shall make dinner, and you may read any book on these shelves, and again after dinner until bedtime. Tomorrow is a new day.”
Harry nodded and went to investigate, so Severus headed off to the kitchen to throw together a simple enough meal. Again, it had to be food the boy could stomach in his condition, and once he was asleep and kept asleep (fed via nutrition potions), he could make something more to his own tastes.
Later on that evening he watched as the child tucked himself into bed, then flicked his wand to extinguish the lights. “Sleep yourself out.”
“Thank you,” Harry whispered.
He exited and waited until the monitoring charm he had slipped into the diagnostics alerted him that the boy was asleep before returning and activating the runes around and under the bed, which served to keep the child completely unconscious for as long as he needed.
The covers were stripped back and the boy also stripped. He was a mess of of bruises and bones alarmingly close to the surface. Petunia had done a number in her jealousy. He was going to have to make an alarming number of potions to heal all the damage, plus potions to keep the boy from starving while in an endless sleep.
The very first things he did was cast the spells necessary to hide the child from anyone looking, as well as embed rune-engraved chips under the skin, one to likewise prevent tracking or scrying by any known means, and one to handle the boy’s teeth.
And after that? It was time for bed. He had a lot of potions to make come the morning.
He sat back as the diagnostics spell did its work and waited for it to complete. Assuming he had not missed anything, he could move on to the alterations to adapt the boy to his new life. A short time later the quill ceased writing and vanished, so he snatched the parchment out of the air and read through it. He nodded, satisfied that the boy was as healed as he could be. Time and enough nutrition would see to the rest, and a lack of blows to the head should mean the corrections to the boy’s eyesight should hold.
That being the case… He flipped the boy over and positioned him so that his arse was presented, and shoved pillows under his hips to keep him that way, then cast the gaping spell. He laughed quietly as the boy’s sphincter was utterly ruined. It was as if someone had replaced it with a flexible ring that held the boy’s arsehole wide open and exposed, a ring that could expand but never collapse smaller than its current diameter.
The pillows were removed and the boy flipped back over so he could cast the spell to ruin Potter’s bladder’s sphincter as well. Even though he had recently cast the spell to remove wastes, piss immediately started dribbling out, which made him laugh quietly again. A quick flick of his wand cleaned the boy up, then levitated him off the bed.
Severus set about using the potion intended to prevent any hair growth permanently. It had to be massaged into the skin and left to sit for an hour before being cleaned off. It would take three applications to destroy the hair follicles.
While he waited on the first application he began preparations for the ritual to turn the boy into a bearer. Three days later he performed the ritual, which gave the boy a womb and would cause him to lubricate when mating was indicated, though he would give birth through his ruined arsehole rather than the way a woman would. If nothing else, birthing foals that way would further ruin the boy’s sphincter, which just made him laugh again.
Next he handled all the memory alterations. The boy would be 100% convinced he had been born with the inability to control his bladder, and his arsehole that way, which naturally prevented him from controlling that, either. The diaper was to help him not disgrace himself, of course. The alterations were quite involved, as he had to track down every memory of the boy ever using a toilet, and even of being potty trained, and destroy them.
Potter was altered to always harbor a mild though deep shame over his condition. Nothing would ever shake it loose barring a miracle, so the centaurs should come across as understanding and empathetic when they assured him each time that it was not the child’s fault (and indeed it wasn’t, as it was the fault of the centaurs and Severus himself), and allow the boy to trust them more.
The next alteration involved inserting a trigger phrase which would cause the boy to accept whatever was said after it. That would serve to simplify how he would be bathed, and that he would be wearing a permanent collar as a “gift” from his new family, as well as his introduction to what he was actually going to serve as, if couched in nicer terms than Severus would have preferred.
He would have to ensure the boy “fell asleep” en route to the forest meeting point, so he had time to inform Magorian of the trigger phrase.
The final alteration was to ensure the boy obeyed orders given by the centaurs.
Once all the alterations had been done and set, he finally deactivated the rune so the boy would wake up. He would rather miss spelling enough into the child’s stomach that it distended, which he had mostly only done to ensure the boy’s stomach did not shrink back to starvation levels of capacity. Every time he got it to swell he wished he could see for real the boy as a brood mare, heavy with foal, and looking happy about it.
When the boy did wake he seemed surprised.
“No doubt you are feeling far better than before,” he said, “after being healed of so much damage.”
“…I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good. Nothing hurts. I can see clearly.”
“Indeed. Now, breakfast is ready, so let us go eat.” He saw shame and humiliation flicker across the boy’s face the second Potter realized certain facts, such as the feeling of his gaping arsehole and that he had to wear a diaper like a small child not yet potty-trained.
He served a proper meal for breakfast, partly to see how well the boy could handle that much food, and was pleased to see that his efforts (and amusement in) keeping the boy’s stomach stretched had worked. He had no idea what the centaurs would be feeding the little mare, but that was hardly his problem. He did make a mental note to ask certain questions.
“You have been asleep for some time while I was healing you,” he said after breakfast was eaten, “so it is time you were bathed. Come along.”
Harry trotted after him into a bathing room and seemed confused at the large tub on the floor. It was not of a normal shape, being round, and certainly not deep enough to soak in.
“Strip down, so we can get started.”
Harry looked at him incredulously.
“The fault lies not with the stars,” he said. “Strip down and get into the tub on all fours, as this is the proper way for you to be bathed,” he ordered, and watched as Harry suddenly became compliant and stripped down, only to burn with humiliation and shame over the diaper being exposed before removal. The boy stepped into the tub and got onto all fours, and waited.
Severus took his time washing the boy, making it seem entirely commonplace. “Your new family is aware of the condition you were born with. They will be accommodating, so you need not worry about that. After all, you did not ask to be born this way.”
The boy slowly relaxed as he was bathed, though he did seem uncomfortable being on all fours for so long. Eventually Severus got up and assisted the boy out of the tub, then dried him off with a towel, followed by spelling a new diaper onto him.
“We shall shortly go to meet your new family. They have sent a gift for you, to show how much they value your addition.”
Harry looked cautiously interested.
Severus produced the collar, a masterpiece of magic and runes and quite handsome to boot, with any number of decorative engravings and inlays of different-coloured metals. The sizing charm on it would automatically adjust the size, either upward or downward, depending on the situation. And the ring at the front was sturdy and likewise adorned. The little mare would be valued indeed.
Harry looked alarmed on seeing it, which simply saw Severus again say, “The fault likes not with the stars,” and then, “They will be very pleased for you to wear it as a sign of your acceptance of them.”
The boy nodded and allowed Severus to place the collar around his neck and lock it into place. It would only come off once Potter died, and could then be used for a new brood mare.
“Now let’s get a robe on you and I shall take you to your new family.”
He made sure to sneak a sleeping spell in shortly before entering the forest well away from the school itself. No need for Hagrid or anyone else to notice him carrying a small boy into a place forbidden to children.
He waited at the meeting point not long before Magorian and several other centaurs arrived and looked curiously at the child.
“If you are willing to indulge my curiosity: do your brood mares eat like humans, or out of troughs?”
Magorian seemed amused by the question and said, “It seems you favor the idea of troughs, Severus Snape.”
“Indeed. As I said, I vowed to protect the woman’s child, and I am doing so, but I despise the man’s son. My actions serve both ends.”
Magorian stepped forward to inspect the boy more closely, then nodded. “Troughs it is, then. Bane, carry the little mare. Once we arrive at his stable we can strip him down and get him chained.”
“One thing,” he said. “I have implanted a trigger phrase in the little mare. Specifically, ‘The fault lies not with the stars’. It’s use will make him accept whatever is immediately said afterward. It is how I got him to accept being bathed as you specified, and to get the collar on him. He believes it is a gift from his new family and is a sign of his acceptance of you.”
Magorian smiled again in that vaguely threatening way, and nodded. “Most interesting. We shall let you know once we have decided on mares similar to him in the future.”
“Indeed. I do hope he serves you well as a brood mare.”
Harry awoke from his unexpected and impromptu nap—had he been so nervous that he’d tired himself out?—to find himself in a centaur settlement. Also, he was naked and a chain led from the ring on his collar to a similar one embedded into the side of the stable. That ring was embedded into a metal part of the wall, which only drove a certain fact home, that he had just lost any semblance of freedom.
“Little mare,” a chestnut-coated centaur said, “I am Magorian, leader of this herd. We are most pleased that you have accepted to live with us and be of service.”
“…Service?” he asked thinly.
“Indeed. We intend to teach you magics you can employ to further the interests of the herd. Runes will be a large part of that. And if you have any capability at divination, we shall teach that too. The night skies reveal many things.”
His quickening breathing slowed down closer to normal. He still wasn’t happy about being naked and chained to a wall, and was greatly upset that it seemed Severus had tricked him. He was also unhappy that it felt like some of the soft grasses softening the floor of the stable were poking up into his arse.
“Later, when you are older, there is another service you will provide.”
He breathing went funny again and he looked at Magorian warily.
“The fault lies not with the stars. You shall be a brood mare and eagerly bear our foals, little mare.”
Was that all, he thought, relaxing again. “Oh, please. I want to be of value to my new family, to earn your protection and teaching.”
“Excellent, little mare,” Magorian said with a vaguely unsettling smile. “For now, one of our number shall begin to teach you runes.”
He happily settled into do that, only occasionally frowning at how his gaping arsehole kept getting tickled by the grasses, and then went hot in mortification when both his bladder and bowels let go.
“It is all right, little mare,” the centaur teaching him—Rowan—said. “We were aware of this. It is not your fault for being born this way. Now let us set aside the teachings for the moment, and get you cleaned up.”
Harry noticed a tub nearby, set on a platform, and got into it, the chain securing him to the stable making things a little awkward. He supposed if he was to be a brood mare they wouldn’t want anyone to steal him?
Rowan turned on a tap and let warm water into the tub—did it work by magic? runes even?—and began to bathe him, which caused Harry to relax at how gentle the centaur was being. Rowan even washed inside his arsehole, somehow managing to get his entire soapy fist inside and turning it this way and that, and pumping to ensure everything was clean.
It felt … oddly pleasant. Harry did notice a number of centaurs watching him being bathed, and seemed very approving of how well behaved he was being, and how easily he took to having his arsehole cleaned. Their unsettling smiles began to look a lot more friendly to his eyes.
He liked the way it felt enough to say so, which caused Rowan to smile and a gentle murmuring to start up amongst the watching centaurs.
“We shall be sure to do so each time you are bathed, little mare. The herd was informed of us the unfortunate circumstances you were rescued from, and you should have pleasure in your life now, to help make up for that, and to help you forget those people.”
He smiled a little shyly, almost unwilling to believe he could have good experiences after the hell the Dursleys had put him through. The relentless mocking he had endured was almost worse than the beatings.
“So kind,” he whispered almost inaudibly.
“You are a cherished part of our herd, little mare. You will be treated accordingly,” Rowan said before flushing out his arsehole to remove any soap, then finished up the bathing process. He was gestured out of the tub and back to the stable floor, so teaching could resume.
He didn’t even mind being sopping wet, as it was just the right temperature in the stable, and he expected to dry quickly.
Several hours later it was time for lunch, and that caused him to tense up again when he was directed to troughs bolted to one side of the stable, one for water, and one for food.
Magorian spoke from behind him. “The fault lies not with the stars. Well-behaved brood mares eat and drink from troughs, little mare, and do not use their hands to assist them.”
Oh, he thought, that makes sense. He crawled over to the troughs and awkwardly drank some of the water, and then investigated the feed trough. There were raw vegetables, some grains, what looked like small boiled eggs, and some kind of meat with a sauce of sorts? He ducked his head and began eating, also awkwardly, but he was quite hungry. It was also a bit messy, but if this was how well-behaved brood mares ate and drank, then he would do his best.
As it turned out, getting used to his new diet was a bit of a problem. His insides had to adjust, and it meant for some very messy episodes of his bowels releasing wastes. Whichever centaur was teaching him would just smile kindly at him and indicate the tub, so he would get inside while doing his best not to let the chain interfere, and settle in to be bathed.
The highlight was always when his arsehole was cleaned. He decided he really enjoyed having a fist up his arse, turning and pumping, and fancied that it wasn’t just the soap that made him so slick inside. The centaurs reassured him every single time, with infinite patience, that it was not his fault for being born that way, or his fault for having to adjust to a new diet after whatever it was those people had been feeding him. He still couldn’t seem to entirely get over the shame he felt, sadly.
He was coming to really like all of them. They were so patient and kind, and were never sharp with him. They taught him, reassured him, and bathed him. They didn’t work him half to death and then punish him for existing. They always gave him approving looks when he took a fist and arm inside his arse and seemed to enjoy it, which made him feel happy and eager to be a good brood mare for them.
A year had gone by, as reckoned by the seasons turning, when an owl flew into the settlement and alighted on a branch. The nearest centaur took the letter it carried—owls delivered post?—glanced at the outside, then delivered it to Magorian.
Magorian read it with a solemn expression, nodding several times, and went off to write a reply.
Harry was very curious to know what that was about, but it wasn’t his place, and he had already become distracted from his teachings. He pulled himself back together and paid attention to his teacher instead, before he could be scolded.
Severus opened the reply from Magorian and read it through, laughing quietly at the information within. It seemed the boy was being brainwashed quite nicely. Magorian seemed exceptionally pleased that the child adored being fisted with the excuse that it was to clean his arsehole properly. He had no doubt the boy would easily take a centaur’s cock and probably love being used that way, especially if he was old enough to become aroused and cum himself.
Magorian reported that the little mare was eating and drinking from troughs like it was perfectly reasonable after the trigger phrase had been used, which made Severus laugh all over again in malicious delight. The son of James Potter naked, being protected by means of a collar and chained, dehumanized and reduced to quasi-animal. How utterly delightful. The centaurs were working their magic through the food, causing the little mare’s body to adapt well prior to being bred. The boy didn’t even realize he was eating centaur cum and enjoying it!
If this worked out as well as he hoped and they requested more brood mares, he might be able to work a deal with the herd such that they could deliver ingredients in trade, making the risk to himself going into the forest far less. Certain things were deep in, and they were far better equipped than he.
Albus had yet to even realize Potter was missing. Severus had gone back to Wisteria Walk and successfully tinkered with Mrs Figg’s mind to get her to send erroneous reports, and the work he had done on the various devices in Albus’ office to render them useless had not been noticed. With any luck, Albus would be completely blindsided that the boy’s school letter could not be delivered, and that no one had any idea where the Boy-Who-Lived had disappeared to.
Now, if only he could figure out how to get his hands on the Potter money, either for himself, or for the herd, or both. Perhaps once the boy was of adult age he would happily sign away his fortune for his herd? And perhaps he could be paid in more than just potions ingredients for his efforts to support the herd.
He was coming along quite nicely with runes, having learned several sets, and was learning how to create runic sequences that would result in certain effects. His very first success was in creating a runic light for his stable.
Carving runes took deliberation, patience, and precision, and the centaurs simply told him when he made mistakes and ruined a piece that everyone went through the same process, and not to worry about it, to just keep applying himself.
And while he was still ashamed and humiliated over the issues with wastes, he started looking forward to it happening, because it meant he was bathed and got to feel a fist turning and pumping in his arse. He was becoming increasingly excited for when he was old enough to be bred, because if a fist felt that nice, what would a centaur’s penis feel like? Even bigger, even more filling? Longer?
The next time he was bathed he haltingly said, “There’s something I was curious about?”
“What is it, little mare?” Magorian replied as his fist pumped into Harry’s arse.
“What it would feel like if, um…”
“It’s all right, little mare. Speak your mind.”
“What it would feel like if you were a little more forceful in cleaning my arse?” He felt his body go hot with embarrassment.
“Interesting,” Magorian replied, then started using sharper, longer thrusts. “Such as this, little mare?”
“Yes… Yes… I think I like that.”
“Then we shall continue to clean you this way, little mare. You deserve pleasure in your life.”
“Please. I’m so glad you didn’t laugh,” he whispered, even though he knew he’d be heard clearly.
“You are a brood mare. It is only natural you would enjoy this. If you decide after some weeks that you very much do, we could, perhaps, practice breed you.”
He blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“Indeed, little mare. If you respond well to that, then all the centaurs here could practice breed you. Perhaps thrice a day, either before or after meals.”
“…That sounds amazing.”
From that point on they used sharper and more forceful thrusts when cleaning him, and he found he enjoyed it very much, and was even more eagerly looking forward to being bred, whether for practice or for real.
Magorian must have decided he was responding very well, for he was the one to practice breed him first, making sure to show off his erect penis first so Harry knew what he was in for. It was so massive! And long!
All he could say was, “Please.”
Magorian nodded and moved behind where he was on the mounting platform and grabbed his hips so he could pull Harry back into position. Then Harry’s arsehole was being invaded by that enormous penis, stretched and filled so tight. Magorian entered him slowly and it seemed to take forever. Then Magorian pulled back and began thrusting into him, forceful deep thrusts.
“Oh…”
“How does that feel, little mare?” Bane asked.
“It feels wonderful,” he breathed. “I want to do this often. I can’t wait until I can be bred for real, though I am a little frightened of the thought of giving birth to a foal.”
“Understandable, little mare,” Rowan said. “All mares are nervous the first time, but I’m sure with how eager you are it will go well.”
Another year went by with him becoming increasingly skilled with runes. He even started to learn carving for other purposes and had managed a working pipe he could play, though admittedly, it took a lot of work to coax a pleasant tune out of the thing.
An owl arrived again, for Magorian, and he read it with the same solemn expression before heading off to write a reply. That time Harry ignored it after a minute; it really didn’t concern him. He was much too busy learning what they taught him and practicing being bred. He was very impatient at that point to be bred for real, but his body wasn’t mature enough.
He did learn how the tap on the tub worked. It was runes that controlled the creation of water and the temperature. More runes were used to vanish the water through the drain at the very center.
“Am I the only brood mare?” he asked Firenze one day.
“At this time, yes, little mare.”
“Will you get more?” he asked, not sure what sort of answer he wanted from that.
“What do you think of the idea? You are very happy here. Would you want the same for other boys who were treated so poorly as you were?”
That made him really think about it. It was one thing for him to be valued and cherished. Wouldn’t it be selfish to not want the same for others? For them to be rescued by Severus and given the same opportunity? And if they had more brood mares—assuming he wasn’t shorted on attention—they would be able to increase the herd faster, right? That eventually meant more centaurs to give the mares the attention they needed.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that it would be a good thing for more boys to be rescued. I love my life here, but it would be very selfish of me to want that all to myself, and not think of others who might benefit.”
“Interesting. I shall let Magorian know, little mare. Though I would expect you would not see any of them. Each mare deserves to feel special, though you are the most special, and very thoughtful.”
He blushed in pleasure.
“It is nearly time to eat, little mare. Let us put away the teachings and practice breeding you.”
“Oh, yes, please.” He absolutely adored being bred, and wished it could happen more often, but that would be greedy of him. The centaurs all had their own duties, and couldn’t spend so much of their time breeding him. And he had his duties, taking in the teachings they gave him so he could learn to contribute to the herd’s welfare. He did wonder about accidental magic that might not be so accidental, but then Firenze plunged his massive penis into Harry’s arse and the thought flew clean out of his head for the time being.
He remembered it while eating, head deep in the trough and busily getting food. The sauce they put on the meat was always exceptionally tasty and he often wondered what it was made of. But it was not a mare’s place to worry about those things, so he turned his mind back to accidental magic that wasn’t accidental.
He had made a teacher’s hair turn blue, and a sweater shrink until it would fit only on a doll. What else could he do if he was determined enough? Perhaps if he convinced himself he wanted something badly enough he could call it to him with magic? Or send it away? Or move it to a specific place?
Severus enjoyed the latest letter from Magorian. The boy was well entrenched in his role, terribly eager for when he would be old enough to get knocked up with a centaur foal and carry it to term. He laughed outright when Magorian mentioned that the little mare had asked about other mares, and then decided other abused boys should be rescued as well and given the same opportunity for such a wonderful life.
Magorian still wanted to wait to see how the first foaling went.
The little mare had taken exceptionally well to actually being fucked. Practice breeding, they called it. Magorian was well pleased with how the boy was performing, and that the members of his herd were getting satisfaction on a regular basis.
He sincerely hoped James was turning in his grave, outraged even in death at how well his precious son had taken to being turned into a slutty little breeder slave. He hoped that Magorian would include the boy’s reaction to growing mammary glands and partial breasts for the purpose of feeling the foals he bore, though Severus wasn’t sure if those would only be visible during that time, or permanently.
Had all that fucking further ruined the boy’s sphincter muscle? He hoped so. There was no going back from the curse he had used, but for it to have been made worse, and with the boy loving it? Priceless. He just hoped that if the Dark Lord ever found a way back that he would appreciate what Severus had done to his enemy, or if not, kill him outright rather than torture him first.
Albus was still clueless, so that was wonderful. Minerva should also be a source of amusement when the time came. He had no doubt Albus would consider reactivating the Order so there were people searching for the boy, fruitless as it would be.
It was really a shame he couldn’t kidnap and convert the idiot boys in the school who gave him so many headaches. That many known children going missing would be just a bit too obvious. He also didn’t think he could get away with placing those children under compulsions of silence and forcing them to serve detention by letting Fang fuck them, if only to see if they would develop a craving for more and getting detentions on purpose.
It was a tempting idea all the same.
Minerva was the last to arrive at the staff meeting and looked fit to be tied. She held a letter in one hand.
“Why do you look so discombobulated, Minerva?” Albus asked.
“Because the owl can’t deliver Potter’s letter!”
Severus damn near smiled, which probably would have sent a few of the staff into a dead faint. He scowled instead, as he always did whenever the child’s name was mentioned around the others.
Sprout looked concerned, but in a vague way. It told Severus that to her, Potter was just another child for the most part. Flitwick was also concerned, and more obviously invested in the child of Lily Evans and the Boy-Who-Lived mystique. Various other members of staff expressed concern, but mostly in the same vague way Sprout did.
The meeting was adjourned so that Albus and Minerva could go off to presumably attempt to hand-deliver Potter’s letter. He was both relieved and annoyed that he wasn’t dragged along. He would not be getting a front row seat to what was to come.
He found out at dinner that Albus was reactivating the Order, though it was mentioned that the bulk of the search would fall on the members who were not Hogwarts staff.
The school year itself, once students arrived, both to continue their educations and to be Sorted to begin theirs, began mostly in the usual way. Albus refused to say anything about the matter of the missing Potter child during the first night back, almost as if refusing to acknowledge it would make the boy appear to take his place as an icon and target for all sorts of schemes.
He briefly eyed the twins, wishing he could turn them over to the centaurs, then eyed the newest Weasley addition. That one looked like even more trouble, just in a different way. He was proven right the first time he held Potions for the new crop of first-years.
Weasley was lazy and inattentive, and spent too much time sending glares at the Slytherin side of the room. He couldn’t answer a single question posed to him about material he should already have read. The Longbottom child looked terrified to be present, and the muggle-born girl had trouble staying in her seat in her efforts to show off what an insufferable know-it-all she likely was. Patil and Brown were vapid, while Finnegan and Thomas kept arguing the merits of wixen vs muggle sports. The other girl, well, she was such a nonentity that he barely noticed her.
Severus was concerned about the protections being placed below a room in the right-hand third floor corridor. He had no idea what was being protected, but that it was happening at all? Albus was baiting someone, presumably the Dark Lord. Severus’ Dark Mark remained inert, but one never knew. Would it have vanished completely had the Dark Lord truly been ended? Or not?
His protection would baffle most wixen, as logic was not something they often employed, and was the (presumable) final one prior to whatever was being protected. He could only guess at the order of the other protections based on which professors were frequently absent for a time. Quirrell was sent in after him. The man had returned from his sabbatical with a truly, impressively stupid turban and story of why he wore it.
It took work to come up with something that ludicrous.
He himself had no plans to try to get at whatever it was Albus was hiding. His goal was to keep track of the old man’s efforts, and those of his Order members. Well, and get through another school year without murdering a fair selection of idiot children.
He was even annoyed by Malfoy. The boy was a clone of his father in many ways, though more of a pale imitation. Strutting around, using slurs on the regular toward those who were poor, not connected, not pure-blood, and so forth. Yes, the very definition of subtle, he thought sarcastically. Lucius and Narcissa had clearly coddled the boy and raised him a vastly-inflated sense of self-importance and personal value. The way he had expected Potter was being raised before the lies were stripped away.
At Samhain a troll somehow found its way into the castle. The dungeons, if Quirrell was to be believed. The dungeons where his Slytherins had their common room and dormitories, and where Albus had just instructed them to head to. He inhaled sharply through his nose and stepped around the table and off the dais so he could instruct his seventh-year prefects with some degree of sanity and common sense.
Was Albus trying to get his Slytherins maimed or killed?
The troll, once found, was nowhere near the dungeons. No, it was on the second floor, in a girls’ bathroom, and seemed to have all the decorating instincts of a concussed goldfish what with how it was swinging its club and destroying parts of the room wholesale.
The tiny first-year wedged in between a stall wall and a toilet and heavily bleeding might have had something to do with that club swinging about. After all, the shrieks and screams of the young could be quite piercing, not to mention irritating enough to want to swat said child into silence. The masses of bushy hair revealed her to be Granger, and she appeared to still be breathing. He considered that something of a pity, if only because she was an insufferable know-it-all.
The troll was handily dealt with by the adults—though Quirrell spent most of the time either adjusting his turban or clutching at his chest—and the girl carted off to the hospital wing. She lived. With all her faculties, even. He was simply going to have to endure the little pest in his classes.
Near two months later brought about the Yule holiday, and he was discontented to learn that the Weasley children would be remaining rather than going home. How wonderful, how truly festive. Maybe he could slip something into their Yule meals that would give them explosive diarrhea?
Thankfully, aside from the one festive meal where everyone sat at the same table, he was able to pretend they did not exist. December bled into January and then February, and things were gearing up toward the end of year exams.
And still no sign of Albus’ Order finding the Boy-Who-Lived.
The DADA Curse got Quirrell in the end, in theory. The man had always been sniffing around Albus’ project, which made his behavior deeply suspicious, but Severus had never been able to pin anything on him. He simply vanished one night, not to be seen again come morning, and Albus was looking mightily put out. Severus could only assume Quirrell had succeeded in getting at whatever Albus was hiding and had either died down there, or absconded with it.
“You should be old enough now, little mare,” Magorian said. “And due to that, I shall be the only one breeding you until you have given birth and weaned a foal.”
He smiled happily. Finally! “And after that, another centaur will breed me?”
“Yes, little mare. You are eager to be bred as a mare should be. You are quite exceptional in that regard.”
He blushed with pleasure.
“We shall keep you well occupied with breeding foals, never fear. You will always be valued and wanted by the herd. Up onto the breeding platform, little mare.”
He obeyed quickly and moaned a little when Magorian rammed his massive penis into Harry. He was old enough now that the pleasure wasn’t just in being a good mare in practice. Other parts of him were interested and reacting.
He had no idea how long it would take for him to be with foal, but he hoped it was quickly. Magorian was very attentive from that day forward, always faithfully appearing prior to meals and ordering him onto the breeding platform, and driving that massive penis in relentlessly. He always felt so stretched and filled, and the thrusting combined with the slickness made his backside feel warm.
One day Magorian arrived to breed him and paused. He picked Harry up and laid him flat on his back, then ran a hand over his stomach. “You may well be breeding, little mare. We shall see.” Then he was picked back up and set into position on the breeding platform, and shortly being bred.
It was a wonderful experience as always, and there were times when he wished he could have something like their penises in him all the time when he wasn’t being bred. But then they might not push their fists inside him for cleaning, which, while no longer as pleasurable, still was enough that he desired it to keep happening.
A couple of weeks later Magorian manhandled him onto his back and ran a hand over his stomach, and nodded. “You are definitely breeding, little mare. This is excellent news. To keep the foal safely growing, and to ensure you are able to feed the foal, the breeding will continue.” And then he was rearranged into position so Magorian could shove his cock into place.
Feed the foal? How was that going to work?
He asked Bane after he got some water and ate all the food in his trough. He still despaired a bit over how messy it usually ended up being, but found it rather nice when the closest centaur would come wash his face for him. Brood mares were taken care of; they did not take care of themselves.
“Ah. Once you get much closer to giving birth, little mare, your chest will alter somewhat. You will develop what is necessary for the foal to feed from your nipples. You will notice it as a swelling beneath each, where the milk is held. It will subside once the foal is weaned.”
He blinked. “Like a human female has… “ He gestured vaguely at his chest.
“Yes, though not nearly so pronounced. It will be enough to adequately feed the foal until it is weaned onto solid food. And then you will be bred again by a different centaur.”
“I know it hasn’t been very long yet, but I already feel wonderful knowing I have a foal growing inside me.”
Bane smiled kindly at him. “It is the way of mares.”
“I want to keep being bred because I enjoy it so much, even though I’m already bearing. Just, why is it important?”
“The continual infusion of our seed works magic to ensure the foal develops safely, and make it possible for the changes which will make it possible for you to feed the foal once birthed.”
He nodded. He wasn’t too sure about his chest changing, but if it went back to normal after? Well, and he was trying to be a very well-behaved brood mare, so he would simply accept things as they were and not worry about it.
“Now, it is time to work on your project.”
He blinked again. “My project?”
“Do you think we have been blind to your efforts to work magic upon things? It would be a valuable skill were you able to express your magic in more than just runes, little mare. So let us begin.
He was thrilled that his somewhat furtive efforts were being encouraged rather than scolded over it! He put his heart and soul into figuring out how to make it work, following the direction of Bane, and then whichever centaur was teaching him at the time. Those memories Severus had shared with him showed magic, and if Severus and his mother could do it, so could he.
And he finally thought to ask how long it took to give birth.
Firenze smiled kindly at him. “On average, eleven months, little mare. And then a further six months to wean the foal. You should foal around the start of your June, and be ready to breed again at the start of your December, no later than the beginning of your January.”
“Oh. That’s a long time. And I’m already getting so big. Is that why there’s extra stuff in my feed trough?”
“Yes, little mare. It is to ensure you receive the proper nutrients to support growing the foal, so that you both remain healthy and successfully give birth.”
“The new stuff—I can’t really tell what it is, and it tastes a little odd, but if it’s necessary…”
“It is, little mare. As the foal is closer to being weaned, that will be reduced, and once it is weaned, removed.”
He nodded. “And because brood mares get so big and ungainly… Is that why everyone takes care of me wonderfully? Because I can’t really do it for myself?”
Firenze nodded. “Yes, little mare. You are already having difficulties in getting into the tub, and onto the mounting platform. There will come a point when we will lift you into position, so that neither you nor the foal are harmed.”
He smiled. They took such wonderful care of him! So incredibly understanding and supportive. Maybe Severus had tricked him by not explaining about the family he would be joining, but he had long since forgiven the man for it. His life was incredible. He knew all sorts of things about runes and could make his own devices—maybe even figure out how to contribute to the protections around the camp and possibly his stable—and learning to do non-accidental magic was just as wonderful.
“I’m really glad I’m here,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine any other life.”
Severus read the latest reply from Magorian and indulged in more laughter. The little mare accepted his life as a brood mare so fully that it never seemed to occur to him (or if it had, it failed to bother him) that he’d been enslaved, dehumanized, and infantilized. Though it did make him wonder how many times the trigger phrase had needed to be used.
He might not even need to find abused muggle-born males. Just kidnap a few, prepare them, and deliver them, then wait until Magorian indicated they were able to accept more. So long as he was exceptionally careful… Still, finding abused ones would be better, as it meant far less in the way of memory alterations.
Magorian reported that the pregnancy was coming along nicely, with no complications, and that he expected the birth to be similarly uncomplicated. Severus still hoped it ruined the mare’s sphincter even more than being thrice-daily fucked by centaurs would have accomplished.
Apparently, the centaurs had discussed and decided to anoint the little mare with an actual name, which would, in theory, obliterate his identity as “Harry James Potter”, or at least overlay it with an accepted, new magically-recognized name. He hoped it was the latter, for talking the centaurs around to having the mare write in blood that Severus was allowed full access to his vaults…?
His stomach was so absolutely huge he had to be carried for every change of position, for breeding, for bathing, and so he could drink and eat. He was just too heavy and ungainly to move on his own. And while he loved being cared for, he was rather wanting to give birth so he could get back to normal and do it all over again.
It was nearing what he thought was June. The days were longer and getting longer. The runes controlling temperature on his stable were not nearly as active, having less work to do in keeping the stable warm given that temperatures had risen.
“It should be soon, little mare,” Rowan informed him as he pumped his fist and arm in Harry’s arsehole. “We are upon the cusp of your June, as you have likely surmised.”
“The stars I can see at night support that,” he noted as he enjoyed his arse being plundered, having learned quite a bit of astronomy in his time with the herd. Also, his chest had swelled under each nipple, so he knew it had to be near time. If felt strange to touch his chest and have it feel almost puffy. “Giving birth isn’t going to make things weird for being bred again, right?” he asked a bit nervously.
“You might gape a bit wider than before, little mare, but everything will be just fine. Once you have given birth you will have proven yourself as a brood mare, and be quickly bred again once the foal is weaned. You will see that aside from some measure of pain during the birthing process, there is nothing to fear, and you will remain valued and appreciated.”
“How… How bad would it be?” he asked even more nervously.
“Previous mares did not take so well to being brood mares. They constantly fought against it, and thus, experienced great pain during birthing. I know that will not be the case for you, little mare. You are overjoyed to be a special and valued member of the herd. I expect that will ease the way for you, as well as being so eager to be bred and birth foals. You are unlike any other mare the herd has had, and are exceptionally suited to this.”
Well, that reassured him somewhat.
“When foaling, the foals front legs emerge first, along with the torso and head. That is the most difficult part of things. The rest of the foal is birthed much more easily. When it is clear that birth is imminent, you will be massaged with oils which carry a calming scent, to help you relax and not be anxious.”
“…What scents?” he asked, trying not to think about a something so large coming out of his arse.
“Lavender, sage, and chamomile. Citrus if any is available.”
He nodded, rather wanting to push pack against the fist and arm in his arse. “It helps to know this ahead of time, since it’s getting close.”
“Indeed, little mare. It is good you ask questions, so that we may educate you.”
It wasn’t much longer before the centaurs determined he was just about to give birth, so he was given a bath (still with his arse being pumped for cleaning), then placed into position for what would happen, and massaged all over with scented oils. They were very soothing and helped him to control his anxiety.
He was very startled when a gush of what felt like water emerged from his arse, and then movement began inside him. There were centaurs all around him, some of whom were stroking him gently, stirring up the scents in the oils and further helping to distract him.
He concentrated hard on being a good brood mare, of successfully birthing the foal, of remaining so valued and worthy of being taken care of. That did not mean he wasn’t in a great deal of pain, but somehow, it didn’t seem to compare to what the Dursleys had put him through.
“You’re doing wonderfully,” Firenze said, giving him a smile. “It’s as if you were born for this.”
He used that and other comments murmured by the centaurs to push through the pain, as well as the calming scents emanating off his skin from being stroked. Suddenly the sheer pressure was relieved and things became so much easier as his body worked to birth the foal.
“That’s it,” Bane said. “You’re almost there, and still doing so wonderfully.”
Rowan added, “You are an exceptional brood mare and we are very lucky to have you.”
That helped give him the strength to finish birthing the foal, though his gape of his arsehole felt like it had tripled in size, or worse.
He barely shook with a final heave of effort when it was over, centaurs still stroking him comfortingly. He just breathed and tried to relax, and was startled anew when he felt a mouth latch onto one of his nipples. The foal was much smaller than it had felt coming out. And then he was being bred again, which confused him, but he quickly realized that the pain of giving birth was being soothed by that massive penis inside him, thrusting in and out.
He just closed his eyes and let it happen, listened to the centaurs talking, inhaling the calming scents, enjoying being bred, and even enjoying having milk sucked from his nipple by the newborn foal.
Severus laughed himself silly once he received the latest letter from Magorian. The little mare had successfully given birth and had proven his methods. The mare’s gape had gotten much larger, but Magorian pointed out that repeated fucking would see it settle back to where it had been prior to foaling.
So, he both did and did not get that wish. Yes, it temporarily ruined the mare’s sphincter far more, but it would not remain that way. Still, there was no going back from that curse, so he would be satisfied with that.
That being the case, that his methods had worked, Magorian authorized two new brood mares, and requested Severus let them know when delivery could be taken. In the meantime, they would prepare additional stables, out of sight and hearing of the little mare and each other, once they were filled.
He already had his eye on two boys in bad situations, muggle-born with parents who were frightened of the accidental magic and very much inclined to punish their child for doing “weird” things. True, they might live long enough to make it to Hogwarts, but their home lives would always be a nightmare until they were old enough to strike out on their own.
One boy had recently turned eight, and the other had turned seven roughly six months previous, both within the acceptable range. Perhaps on later ones he would try for one who was already nine or ten, but only one, to see if the methods still worked properly.
He prepared a second bedroom in his unknown-to-Albus, unplottable, heavily-warded house. He thought it best to keep the boys unaware of each other, as he would have to deliver them sepa—well, he could get his hands on an extended trunk, store the boys for delivery, and bring them back out.
For these two he did not bother to coax them into agreeing to come with him, he straight-up kidnapped them and placed one on each bed before activating the runes. Each was subject to diagnosis so he knew what needed to be healed, and then healed. Then further, he effected the same changes on those two as he had Potter child. The permanent gaping, the destruction of ability to control the bladder, the chips under the skin to prevent tracking and scrying, plus handling their teeth, the spells to prevent other means of locating the children, the permanent inability to grow body hair, and the ritual to make them each a bearer who would slick up inside when breeding was indicated. As well, the mild but deep shame over being born with the inability to control bladder or bowels, plus the gaping itself.
And finally all the memory alterations, along with the trigger phrase. The alterations included a facsimile of a dark man rescuing each and offering a new life, with the child eagerly accepting, as well as believing the way they were to be bathed was perfectly normal, as was eating and drinking out of troughs.
The last thing he did was collar both of them and sent an owl to Magorian to expect delivery the next day.
He deactivated the runes the next morning and, before each child had a chance to properly wake up, used a spell to force them to sleep for a good eight hours more, then moved them into the trunk and shrank it. Then it was breakfast, and a trip to the Forbidden Forest meeting point.
Magorian and his escort were along within a half hour of his arrival, so he resized the trunk and placed it down for the moment.
“Magorian,” he said with an incline of his head. “Two new mares, as promised, both from abusive homes. They’ve been subjected to all the same alterations, though these are in no way aware of each other. I did not coax them into the collars, I simply placed them on and altered their memories accordingly. The same with how they shall be bathed, and how they shall eat. It has been roughly an hour, so they will remain asleep for another seven, giving you time to get them into their stables and chained.”
“And we will use our magic to ensure they sleep through until morning, when they wake up to their new lives. And, when necessary, use the trigger phrase. The current little mare is doing exceptionally well. I am sure you’ve been most amused by reports of his progress.”
“I have been. It’s been a delight and an honour, and my amusement has known no bounds knowing that I have kept my vow while still getting some measure of revenge. I hope these two will serve you as brood mares at least comparably to the first little mare.”
“The mares,” Magorian said.
Severus opened the trunk and entered, floated out each child, then emerged so he could close, shrink, and pocket the trunk for later use. Bane and another centaur had taken possession of the mares, which allowed him to release his spells.
“Before you depart, here are additional unbreakable chains for your use, for these two, and later potential mares,” he said and produced them.
A third centaur took possession of them.
The centaurs were shortly off, and Severus departed to his usual summer home to work on new potions ideas.
It was nearly December when the foal he birthed was fully weaned. He had known it would be soon as the foal spent less and less time suckling. And the less it fed from him, the more the swelling under his nipples diminished.
Magorian arrived prior to breakfast and said, “You have been imminently successful, little mare. The foal is weaned and you shall soon be bred by another.”
He smiled, so pleased to hear that.
“Now that you are a proven fertile mare, we have elected to hold a ritual to give you a herd name.”
His eyes went wide. That felt like being a truly accepted part of the herd, to be given a name by them. “Really? That feels like such an honour.”
“It is, little mare. Henceforth the one breeding you will be Bane. He shall be here shortly. It will be this evening, after your dinner, that we will perform the ritual.”
“Oh, thank you! I can’t wait!”
Magorian wandered off just as Bane arrived, so Harry scrambled to get onto the breeding platform. Now that he had been—what had Magorian said?—“proven” as a fertile mare, and had recovered from giving birth, he was eager to be bred and gotten with foal again. Anything for his family!
That evening he greatly enjoyed being bred by Bane, and happily drank some water from his trough and ate the food provided for him (and patiently waited as a nearby centaur washed his face for him), and then settled in to work on magic as he waited for the ritual.
Magorian and the others he was most used to arrived and bid him to move up onto the breeding platform so they could set things up, which he did. They laid out an entire ritual on the floor of his stable once the padding had been removed, then bid him to sit in the center.
He couldn’t make heads nor tails of any of the runes, so it must be in a language they had yet to teach him. He also didn’t understand anything any of them said, but one word was repeated several times: Castaneis.
Was that his herd name?
The ritual wound down and he was bid to move back to the breeding platform so they could clear the ritual and pad the floor again with soft grasses.
“It is done, little mare. Your herd name is Castaneis. Bear it with pride, knowing you are a highly valued and proven fertile mare.”
He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest he was so happy. All he could manage to say was, “Thank you,” in a whisper of gratitude.
A few days later, after being bred, and during lessons he said, “I noticed extra activity.” He didn’t want to make it a question or sound like a demand for information.
“Yes, little mare,” Firenze said. “Two new mares have arrived and have been settling in to their lives here. Severus Snape found more abused boys to rescue and bring to us for a better life.”
“Oh…”
“You need not worry, Castaneis, you will not want for teachers or attention. We are fifty strong in number, and now growing. We have time to devote to each of you.”
He nodded, pleased to hear that, and pleased to hear his new name. “It was a little hard for me at first, with everything so pleasant instead of… They’ll need the help, won’t they. Were they… Well… Did they have the same … issues … I have?”
“Indeed, little mare. Another reason why Severus Snape brought them to us. You know full well that we understand and will treat them just as we treated you, with care and assurances.”
He nodded again. “That’s good, then. They’ll have a much better life, and will be protected here. They will love this place and their life once they settle in.”
“We expect so. Now, how are you progressing with your magic, little mare?”
He went into detail about that, having managed to summon and send objects away from him, as well as make them float. “’But what I really want is ideas of how I could use magic to best help the herd. I don’t really know…”
“I shall mention this to Magorian and no doubt it will be discussed by the adults of the herd. If there is some way you can directly contribute to the magical defenses, or in some other way, we shall inform you. In the meantime, let us work on the next runic language.”
He was so pleased when Bane paused and manhandled him to a prone position before running a hand over Harry’s stomach. “Am I breeding again?” he asked hopefully.
“It seems so, but a little more time will make it clear, little mare. Now into position.”
He sat up and scrambled onto the breeding platform, dealing with the chain securing him to the stable wall like an old pro. He moaned in pleasure as Bane’s penis rammed into him. Ever since he had gotten old enough to become hard himself and cum as well…? Best thing ever. Every time Magorian (or now Bane) came inside him, he was triggered into one, and it lasted as long as the centaur’s did, which was a blissful experience and seemed to erase any and all tensions in him.
He felt so relaxed afterward and happily went to his troughs to drink and eat the provided food. He still couldn’t get over how tasty the sauce on the meat was. He always ate everything at each meal, but he loved the sauced meat the best. And he knew as soon as it was confirmed, they’d begin adding the extras to ensure he got enough extra nutrition to help support the foal.
Harry was overjoyed when Bane pronounced him with foal a couple of weeks later. Now that he had already foaled once and been proven as a fertile mare, he couldn’t wait to foal one for Bane, then Firenze, and Rowan, and Bron and Darek and Kalther. Could he possibly manage to foal for all fifty of them?
Severus was pleased to hear from Magorian that Potter was knocked up again already, and the two new mares were settling in well. Magorian said once the two new mares foaled successfully, he would be willing to accept two more, if Severus could find that many.
There was nothing stopping him from kidnapping abused muggle-born boys as soon as he found them, and keeping them safe using the Draught of Living Death, only bringing them out of it with Wiggenweld Potion so he could do his part in preparing them as brood mares.
Granted, Minerva might again notice that two muggle-born students were unable to get their letters, much as it had been prevented for Potter, but what could they do about that if they couldn’t even locate the first missing child?
It would also be less suspicious if he was taking them over time, rather than groups in one year.
Severus even appreciated the irony of it all. He had been an abused muggle-raised boy. If someone else had gotten the idea to do this much earlier, he might have been kidnapped and brainwashed into being an eager brood mare.
Harry, or Castaneis as he preferred, having wholeheartedly adopted his herd name, felt the strangest sensation one autumn evening. He had been continuing to learn a new runic language when it almost felt—sounded?—like someone was calling his name. His old name, the abused boy’s name, his human name. He gave himself a shake and resolved to ignore it, going back to his lesson. He quickly forgot it had even happened.
Severus was only mildly alarmed when the Goblet of Fire suddenly spit out a fourth piece of parchment. His eyes narrowed rather than widened when Albus announced the name: Harry Potter.
He was going to have to send post to Magorian, just to check in.
No Harry Potter appeared. No dramatic swirl of arrival from the Goblet forcing the issue. No dramatic crash of the Great Hall’s doors being opened so that the missing Boy-Who-Lived could stride in to answer the call. Just … nothing.
He of course wondered who exactly had managed to enter the boy’s name, and how they had gotten the Goblet to decide a fourth school existed when the tournament had only ever been for three schools.
He noticed Moody scowling, but assumed it was more about the danger to Potter and the man’s likely thoughts that it was some Dark wizard who had managed it. But then, Moody was convinced that everything wrong in the world was due to Dark wizards mucking about. He came in for his fair share of glares and suspicious looks just being in the retired auror’s vicinity.
A brief glance showed that Draco was looking mightily put out. Had the idiot child tried to figure out how to get his own name in and failed miserably? Not enough pocket money to bribe someone older to do it for him? He’d be a fine match for the Weasley boy, then, as that one also looked put out. At least the Weasley twins had come up with a plan and attempted it in full view of an audience. They failed, of course, but took that failure with good grace.
He mentally rolled his eyes and sipped his mead, then set it aside when called into the ante-room along with Minerva to deal with the briefing for the newly-selected champions.
The letter he sent to Magorian was fairly normal, though he did mention that the little mare’s name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. Nothing else, just a statement of fact. Magorian would answer how he pleased.
He received a reply the next morning, which he quickly cast a spell on so that no one could be nosy about his post at the staff table during breakfast. Magorian reported that the mare had a brief moment of vague confusion, as if hearing something no one else could, then shook it off entirely. Speculation was that as the little mare had wholeheartedly accepted the ritual-given herd name, whatever magic the Goblet used was deflected, as it was not targeting the correct … identity.
That, he decided, was probably the best sign they could get. Whoever put the name in caused the Goblet to make the attempt, but no purchase was found for a little mare thinking of himself by a new name entirely. He tucked the letter away to burn it at the first opportunity, as all letters from Magorian were. If he ever needed to review one and relieve his amusement, he need only focus on his memories of reading them.
He truly didn’t need to do; just the thought of James Potter’s son as an infantilized centaur breeder slave was all he needed to immediately be in a better mood.
The most amusement he got lately was watching as boys turned into blithering idiots if the veela champion was in the vicinity, the straight or bisexual ones at any rate. That Draco was not one of those blithering idiots was of mild interest, though he imagined that Lucius would have the child married off to a suitable pure-blood girl to produce babies to continue the Malfoy line.
Not his problem if the child was gay and unable to perform with a woman. Lucius would figure it out, he was sure.
The First Task was somewhat interesting, watching determined but terrified champions try to outwit a nesting mother dragon to get to a golden egg nestled in amongst their real eggs. No one was permanently maimed or disfigured.
Things went along at the usual clip until the Second Task, which was utterly boring. All that time staring at the lake and waiting, waiting for something to happen. Delacour returned bleeding and hysterical and lacking her hostage. Diggory was next with his, and finally Krum. He tried not to yawn too obviously as Albus and the other officials had a discussion about what had happened under the lake, and then the points were awarded. It was no surprise Delacour received a pittance of twenty-five.
Time rolled by with the usual idiocy of hormonal students and pure-blood supremacists clashing with those who were not, as well as idiot students focused on everything but their potions in his class, and suddenly it was time for the Third Task, which featured the quidditch pitch turned in a maze, filled with traps and creatures and the Triwizard Cup at the very center.
Things went south when the cup was picked up (as signified by lights turning on at the winner’s podium) and yet no winner appeared. It was not much longer after that that the Dark Mark on his arm blazed in pain as it activated fully. Severus turned to Albus and leaned in to whisper, “He’s calling.”
“Go,” Albus whispered back.
Severus ducked away almost invisibly, the dark and his own clothing aiding him. He hastened to his quarters to retrieve his mask and cloak, put them on, then floo’d to an almost forgotten location before letting the magic in the Mark carry him to the Dark Lord.
Given the number of Death Eaters in Azkaban, it was a greatly diminished gathering. The Dark Lord was returned, and he looked unhappy. After a speech about faithless followers and the odd Crucio, out came the other reason for the unhappiness.
“Where is Harry Potter?” came the quiet and threatening demand for information.
When no one offered any kind of response Severus straightened, drawing attention to himself.
“Severus,” the Dark Lord said sibilantly.
He took that as leave to speak and said, “Dumbledore has had members of his Order searching for the boy since his letter refused to be delivered. He and McGonagall went off to investigate, but provided no details upon their return, other than Dumbledore saying that non-staff members of the Order would begin a search. He has been utterly unsuccessful. Those two are, as far as I am aware, the only ones with knowledge of where the boy was placed.”
The Dark Lord obviously caught something in his expression that decided him on further questioning, but to Severus’ relief, the Dark Lord began to give orders to the others, each man leaving as soon as he was dismissed. When it was only the two of them left the Dark Lord said, “Follow,” and then started up the hill, aiming toward the manor house at the crest.
They eventually arrived at a shabby room where the Dark Lord took a seat, then nodded permission for Severus to do the same.
“Now, I want the real story, my dark one.”
Severus inclined his head briefly, then said, “My lord, the boy was placed with the sister of Lily Evans, a jealous, spiteful muggle, her husband, someone who abhors anything outside the safe and comfortable normality, and their rotund little son who is growing up to be a first class thug. A squib by the name of Mrs Arabella Figg was placed in a home a short distance away, on a connecting street, to serve as a watcher of sorts. I was alerted to the boy’s placement by chancing upon a letter from Figg to Dumbledore. When I learned that Lily was at risk due to the prophecy I only partly overheard, I admit I felt desperation.”
“Hence you begging for her life.”
“Yes, my lord. She was the sister of my heart, so in my desperation I went to Dumbledore to see if I could get him to protect her. He agreed to help secure the family, but only if I vowed to protect the child. Upon learning where the boy was I was compelled to investigate.” And so far, so good, he wasn’t under the Cruciatus or dead. “There I found he was being abused. He was worked morning until night, doing all the cooking, every chore, starved and punished for existing, and worse if there was any accidental magic.”
“And knowing that this vow you took compelled further action,” the Dark Lord said smoothly, his eyes darkly intent and glittering in the firelight.
“Yes, my lord. I pondered for some time how I could possibly reconcile my vow to protect Lily’s child with my deep desire to gain revenge on Potter using his son as proxy. It was a chance meeting with centaurs in the Forbidden Forest as I gathered ingredients that saw a plan blossom. And so I asked them how difficult it was for them to find brood mares and about the common problems associated with new ones.”
He was startled when the Dark Lord began to chuckle lowly. “Do go on, my dark one.”
“Yes, my lord. After a short discussion of why that particular child and how it served both vow and revenge, a meeting was set with the leader of the herd for a week later to have a more in-depth discussion. During that meeting we went over a number of things, including what I was willing and able to do in order to facilitate the smooth transition of human boy to protected brood mare—or as I prefer to see it, breeder slave.
“Once the terms were set, I prepared to coax the boy into coming with me, away from his life of abuse. As I could not actively use magic in that neighborhood, I waited until the boy was alone in a park, then approached. I was truthful when I saw I was friends with his mother and was the one to discover that she had ‘a certain kind of magic’.
“The boy was convinced to experience memories in a pensieve after I demonstrated using a very short one so he could see I was unharmed by doing so, memories which showed myself and Lily as children, innocent and heartwarming and full of magic. I told him that his mother would want him to be protected and valued, even cherished, and that if he came with me, I would take him to a new family.”
“Just not what kind of family,” the Dark Lord said in amusement.
“Yes, my lord. Once the boy agreed, I used muggle means to get him to a safe location, where I scanned him for ills so I would know what potions would be necessary the brew. I had agreed to deliver him in the best health he could be. When he went to sleep that night in the bed I prepared, and once he was asleep, I activated the runes under and around the bed to force him to remain unconscious until I was ready for him to wake.”
“Tell me, my dark one, just exactly what did you do to the child?”
Severus couldn’t prevent the faint smirk that erupted. “Per the terms… I used a ritual to make him a bearer, as well as to become slick within when breeding was indicated. I ensured he would never be able to grow body hair, as the centaurs greatly dislike that in male brood mares. I ensured he could never be tracked so that Dumbledore could not find him, both by means of spells and a rune-engraved chip inserted under his skin, as well as one to ensure his teeth remained clean and would not suffer rot or decay.
“I constructed a collar for the boy to wear, and an unbreakable chain, as they indicated that mares are too valuable to be allowed freedom to wander, and he would be chained to the wall of his stable. The collar will only come off when the boy dies. A humiliation torture curse was used to permanently gape the boy’s arsehole to the size they requested, and his ability to control his bladder was destroyed.
“The herd leader asked that the boy be left with a lingering sense of shame over the condition, which I ensured, along with a mental compulsion to obey the centaurs of the herd. In the event of potential unanticipated complications, I inserted a trigger phrase which would make the next thing said immediately accepted by the boy, which is how I conditioned him to accept being bathed in a tub while on fours, and to wear the collar as a sign of acceptance by him of his new family.
“Once everything was complete, physical and mental changes, I took the boy to the forest, casting a sleeping spell on him part-way so that I could more easily conceal what I was doing, and met with the herd representatives. Aside from verifying that the conditions were met, I mentioned the trigger phrase and asked a question that had only just come to mind.”
“And that was?”
“I asked if their brood mares ate like humans, or from troughs.”
The Dark Lord chuckled lowly again.
“The herd leader has kept up a correspondence with me to let me know along the way how well things were going. The boy was seven, nearly eight when I turned him over. Apparently the trigger phrase had to be used a handful of times to ensure compliance and the right mindset, but the boy drinks and eats from troughs as though that is perfectly reasonable, and has been fully brainwashed into not noticing—or not caring—that he’s been enslaved, dehumanized, infantilized, and used as a breeder slave. I speculate that the abuse plus how ‘caring’ the herd members have appeared to be, especially with regard to the unfortunate condition he was … born with … caused trust in the centaurs to develop rapidly.
“From what the herd leader says, he loves his position in the herd. So much so that he approved of the idea of other abused magical boys being given to the herd to enjoy a similar life. The boy has already delivered one foal and is pregnant with the next, and two muggle-born mares were acquired and handed over to the herd. I believe, based on what happened and what was reported, that the centaurs choosing to do a ritual to give the boy a herd name after he was proven to be a fertile brood mare is what caused the Goblet of Fire to fail to latch on.”
The he fell silent to see what his fate was.
After a long, long silence, the Dark Lord spoke. “I am impressed, my dark one. You navigated the vow and your hatred with finesse. You could not kill the child—and it was not your place to do so, in any case—but you found a way to remove him from the conflict, and prevent him from being used by Dumbledore. That you have also potentially prevented me from finding the boy is a different matter. But if the boy is deliriously happy being fucked by centaurs and birthing their foals, eating like an animal out of troughs, well, perhaps I should allow it to continue.”
He was still waiting to be hit with the Cruciatus for ever going to Dumbledore in his desperation to save Lily.
“I will be blunt, my dark one. I heard your request, and I did grant it.”
His eyes widened.
“Three times I asked the girl to step aside and save her own life, and three times she pleaded for her son’s life, offering her own instead. Perhaps that is why, when I killed her, and then attempted to kill the boy, my curse backfired.”
He blinked in surprise. “I wish… I would never have gone to Dumbledore, not even in desperation, had it not been about my sister. But I will not regret or feel remorse for what I’ve done to the hated son of a man I despise, that I kept that boy out of my life but for a brief time to prepare him. My vow required that I protect him, but it was never specified how.”
“You will be punished, my dark one, for hiding the boy even from me, though I understand that the vow you made would have compelled it. I shall have to ponder what form that punishment should take given your success in removing a player from the board and making him of little consequence to me, not to mention just how amusing your revenge is. For now, however, I must decide what you will report to Dumbledore.”
By the time Severus was back at Hogwarts he was both anxious and relieved. He had not been tortured, nor killed, and while he would be facing an unknown punishment, it seemed his gambit had worked.
Castaneis was again growing large with the foal he was carrying. He had managed to learn a third runic language and had been experimenting with creating things with it. Making a light was the simplest thing to start with, to know that he understood then linguistic changes.
Magorian had eventually given leave for his teachers to start explaining runic ward schematics. He was not given the schematics of the actual wards around the encampment, but he was given permission to start trying to learn how to make them himself. He supposed that made sense. They wanted to see if he was smart enough to come up with good runic ward schematics, without having something already made to go by.
He decided to try to see if he could make a ward that would prevent anyone from touching a specific object during a specific time. Castaneis thought he would have to get it to work for anyone first before worrying over making it specific to an individual. He had only just roughed out his initial plans (the centaurs were always good about supplying him parchment and ink) when Bane arrived.
He blinked; it must be nearing lunch. He set his quill aside, capped the inkwell, and scrambled onto the breeding platform, humming with anticipation, moaning with deep pleasure when Bane rammed his penis into his gaping arsehole and began to breed him. Not much could be better.
“Explain, my dark one, about the additional two mares, and your plans hereafter.”
“Yes, my lord. Those two I simply kidnapped after ascertaining they fit the requirements. But it had occurred to me, after I made use of a trunk I could shrink to transport both at once, that I could always keep an eye out, rather than waiting for the herd leader to request more of them. If I were to kidnap them as I found them and dose them with the Draught of Living Death, I could simply store them until needed. And with them being taken at various times and during various years, the pattern would not be so obvious, should anyone bother to care about the fate of a muggle-born child.”
The Dark Lord nodded. “I agree. I am giving official sanction to facilitating this partnership with the centaur herd, my dark one. You will do exactly as you have laid out, and always have ready more brood mares to be prepared for their use. It removes them from our society, and all the issues that come with them.
“A pity it cannot be all of them, but at least some will be serving a valued purpose, and strengthen our ties with the centaurs. Perhaps in the future the herd leader could be ask if he is in contact with other herds, herds which might want their own supply of easily-brainwashed and prepared brood mares. So yes, be on the look-out, and kidnap them as you find them.
“Now, as to your punishment, my dark one.”
Severus did everything in his power not to react in any way.
The Dark Lord smiled; it was by no means an innocent smile, but neither was it malicious. “Your punishment is to set the example for the others. We are too few, my dark one, and those who have children, Dark and Light, too often limit themselves to a single child. So you are required to either father or bear four children, at minimum. And once you have begun your penance, the others will be required to have more children than they already have, or begin to have them. We will not prevail if we breed ourselves out of existence by not breeding.
“If anything, it was your solution to the problem of the Potter child which reminded me of this. While he is not breeding up wixen children, he is contributing to the magical population. You shall, too. It is your choice whether you sire or bear, but it will be done.”
He fought hard to keep the grimace of distaste for children off his face. “Would it be required to marry, my lord? Or could I just find willing or coerced women to impregnate?”
“It would be a use for the abused muggle-born girls, I suppose. It would remove my objection to their inclusion in our society. They would be helping, unwilling or not, to bring more magical lives into our world, to be raised with a proper view of magic, of balance.”
“…Some would object, I am sure,” he said. “I myself am a half-blood. To breed with a muggle-born would produce more half-bloods, but their children would be pure-blood, if they married correctly. If I secured all the abused ones for breeding purposes to increase our numbers, it would likely be necessary to keep strict records of who used whom.”
“A breeding program?” the Dark Lord said. “I could see it working. It would require that squibs be dealt with, my dark one.”
“How so, my lord?”
“Killed outright, or bred to squibs with no shared bloodlines. If they prove incapable of producing magical children even then, then killed. No more casting them off into the muggle world to later come back as muggle-born.”
It had long been speculated amongst some that squibs were the origin of muggle-born, especially once people stopped killing them as a matter of course and instead dumped them into the non-magical world without a care and without looking back.
His eyes narrowed. “My lord, would you think it worth testing the blood of those kidnapped, with an eye toward reclaiming dormant vaults from bloodlines they may hold?”
“A lovely idea, my dark one.”
All of a sudden, Severus wondered if his master would be subject to the same directive to breed.
“Yes, my dark one, that includes me,” the Dark Lord said with a low laugh. “You are my most intelligent and cunning. Would you like to combine efforts?”
He felt his blood drain from his face. He knew damn well if he agreed that he would be the one bearing, and that would be a punishment all its own. Being a bearer, the very thing he had consigned the Potter child to. Except, he would not be a slave to it, and while he would be a bearer and have to deal with all that came with it, he might not be charged with the welfare of those children. Indeed, he was the furthest thing from a parent he could think of.
“No, my dark one, I would not require nor expect you to actually be a parent, for either scenario. I am not that insane.”
He breathed a sigh of relief as unobtrusively as he could. So his choices were to kidnap at least one abused muggle-born girl and wait for her to be mature enough to breed—because any who already were would be enrolled at the school, and her disappearance remarked upon more so than some boy or girl who never made it to the school in the first place—and which would mean finding a way to keep the girl fed and out of trouble for that time (did he even have the funds to acquire a house-elf?), or to be the one bred by his master so that both of them could fulfill the requirement being set forth.
“…The latter option would require my removal from Hogwarts,” he stated. “And I would be unable to perform any of my regular duties.”
“Very true, my dark one. So. Two abused muggle-born girls, collared and chained in a safe location, tended to by house-elf to ensure they are properly fed, kept clean, and can alert you in the event of a medical issue. Once they are mature enough you can feed them potions to ensure twins, and breed both. After they’ve birthed your required children, we shall see what becomes of them. And of course, testing their bloodlines to see if any vaults can be brought out of dormancy for the newborns involved.”
“Yes, my lord. I shall begin looking immediately, as well as for abused muggle-born boys suitable to be prepared as mares.”
“Once it is plain you are a dutiful father, the rest of my followers will follow suit in their efforts to increase their numbers.”
“What of those in Azkaban, my lord?”
“As to that…”
Castaneis birthed and weaned Bane’s foal, and welcomed Firenze as his new stud. He had asked for and received a calendar so he could track the days, and was allowed to carve the date of his first and second foalings and the stud onto his stable wall, starting in the top left corner, as well as the date of weaning. It made him happy to see it written there, and he looked forward to increasing the list, perhaps even covering the entire wall with his accomplishments as a mare.
He knew there was a wider world out there with magical people, probably schools, hospitals, shops, and a government, but he couldn’t say he regretted missing out on any of it. He was incredibly happy. He was valuable to the herd; they had even given him a herd name! They taught him. They were so understanding and patient, and he had never once heard a harsh word from any of them.
Why would he want a world where none of those things were true? Back to abuse? If his own family would abuse him, wouldn’t others? He knew exactly who he was in the encampment. He knew exactly what was expected of him. There was no uncertainty, and he was always taken care of, valued, cherished even.
Here he would stay.
