Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/43463.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Sirius_Black/Harry_Potter/James_Potter
  Character:
      Sirius_Black, Harry_Potter, James_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Drama, Parent/Child_Incest, Bestiality, Christmas, Dream_Sex
  Collections:
      Stories_About_Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-12-31 Words: 1315
****** The Ghost of Christmas Might-Have-Been ******
by Delphi
Summary
     Harry has a strange dream at Christmas.
Notes
     Written for the 2004 Merry Smutmas exchange on LJ.
In his dream, his dad was there, and the house at Godric's Hollow was lit up
for Christmas. Red and gold shadows danced as a fire crackled in the grate, and
fairy lights twinkled like tiny stars, winding their way around the sitting
room to the great tree that stood from floor to ceiling in the corner. There
was an angel looking down at him from the top, and Harry dimly recalled that it
had once sat upon the Dursleys' tree, until the year Dudley broke it and blamed
it on him.
The angel was whole here, smiling gently, not a crack in her pretty porcelain
face, and Harry sat warm and happy as arms curled tight around him. He thought
he had dreamed this before; it was achingly familiar, and even if he couldn't
turn around, he knew it was his dad's lap he was sitting in. In his dream, he
wasn't embarrassed.
And he wasn't afraid, even though the Grim was there too.
"Hush," his dad whispered, and Harry shivered at the hot breath against his
ear. "That's just Padfoot. He's going to look after you."
"Padfoot...?" Harry asked, the name tasting like he should know it.
The dog tilted its head as though to say 'Yes?' and Harry had to laugh. Up
close the Grim looked almost like any other big black mongrel, with its pink
tongue lolling out and a big red Christmas bow tied around its neck. There was
something about its eyes, though—an uncomfortable brightness—and the shifting
of its muscles left Harry just a little...
What was the word? He tried to pin down the squirming feeling inside him.
...unsettled, maybe. In a hot-in-his-belly sort of interested way.
He reached out and touched the bow, gooseflesh inexplicably breaking out all
over his body as he crushed the smooth velvet in his hand.
"Is he my present?" he asked softly.
His dad chuckled as though something was very funny, and the sound of it made
Harry feel hot. "No Harry," he said. "I rather think you're Padfoot's present."
The dog was laughing too, panting as it stared at Harry's chest. Harry followed
its gaze. He was wearing a nightshirt, like the kind Seamus wore to bed, and
his dad was unbuttoning it bit by bit. He stared at his dad's big hand against
his chest and made a little sound as they touched. His skin tingled, and his
nipples tightened up like it was cold, only it wasn't.
"...Dad?"
"Hush, Harry." His dad sounded breathless.
Button by button, all the way down to his knees, and then the whole front of
him was naked, and the dog was panting harder. Harry looked down at himself and
blushed. He had a stiffie.
"Dad."
He tried to cover himself, but his dad was holding his wrists. Gentle, but
firm.
"Don't you want to give Padfoot a pat?" his dad asked, whispering in his ear
again and making his skin tickle.
Harry supposed he did. The dog's fur looked very soft, and his dad was already
leading his hand forward, and it was a little...exciting, being looked at while
he had a stiffie.
The dog let out a quiet 'whuff' as Harry gave it a pat on the head. His fingers
curled in its silky fur.
"Good boy," he heard his dad murmur, and he didn't know whether he meant
Padfoot or him. His dad was rubbing his belly now, shifting a little behind him
until Harry could feel a bulge pressing into his back.
He scratched the dog under the chin, smiling when it licked his palm, then let
his hand follow the outline of its muscles, down its shoulder, along its back.
It felt very strong, and it was bigger than he'd thought before, and Harry held
his breath as his dad's hand drew his own down Padfoot's chest. His dad's hand
was shaking, and Harry's was too.
"Merry Christmas, old man," his dad said, and Harry suddenly quivered as he
touched something wet.
He craned his neck to see, and caught only a flash of crimson under his
fingers. The dog's thing was out, and he was touching it, feeling it slick and
hot against his skin as his dad squeezed his hand closed.
The dog let out a whine, skittering forward in a clatter of claws against the
hardwood floor. The sound made Harry even stiffer, feeling like he was going to
burst between his legs. His hand began to move on its own then, pulling the way
he touched himself, and he felt his dad kiss the side of his neck, squeezing
him tight.
"That's it, Harry...show Padfoot how much you like him."
Harry swallowed hard and kept on rubbing, getting hotter and hotter as the dog
kept making those noises, its hips jerking back and forth as it pushed into his
hand.
"Oh God...such a good boy..."
Harry yelped as the dog suddenly pushed itself to its feet, leaping forward as
if to pounce. He tried to scramble back, but his dad's arms held him tight.
"Hush, hush."
But Harry couldn't hush, not when Padfoot's big pink tongue licked across his
chest and all he could feel was wetness, and hot breath, and the edge of teeth
that made him cry out.
"Dad...Dad..."
His dad kissed him again, but not on the neck. He'd turned Harry's face, and he
was kissing him on the mouth. Not a dad-kiss, but the kind that kept going and
going, and he heard himself whimper as the dog's tongue moved down his belly,
licking, licking him there, and it felt so good that he thought he would die.
Only the fear of those fangs kept him from pushing forward as he trembled all
over. He let out a squeak of surprise as his legs were pulled back, hands
behind his knees, and he tried to bury his face against his dad's chest,
burning up and dizzy to be spread open and seen like that. Padfoot's tongue
went everywhere. Everywhere. Over and over, lapping him up like he was a sweet,
the way Harry had lapped up the candy canes that were hanging from the tree,
that wonderful tree, glinting gold as his eyes teared up and the feeling
between his legs became pleasure and pain all in one—
Harry bolted upright in bed, waking with a gasp.
For a long blurry moment he had no idea where he was, his heart pounding in his
ears. He remembered somewhere with a Christmas tree, and people...
He scrubbed at his eyes, waiting for his breathing to quiet down. The sounds of
the dormitory slowly came creeping in. Ron and Dean snoring, Neville muttering
in his sleep. One hand under the covers found him wet and sticky again, and he
made a face, pulling his shorts off and kicking them under the covers. He tried
to recall what he had dreamed about but couldn't. It was already slipping away,
nothing remaining but a picture of black hair and a lingering tingle down
there.
Shaking his head, he burrowed down into the pillow and had nearly drifted back
to sleep when a distant sound made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
He shivered, pulling the blankets up. Something was howling out on the grounds,
something big, with a voice too deep to be the wind.
Fang, he thought—or meant to think, but another name crowded its way in.
That's just Padfoot.
Harry frowned. Where had he heard that before? Oh yes, that map Fred and George
had given him. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.
He's going to look after you.
The howl ended on a low, lonely note. For some reason, it made Harry sad to
hear it, and he lay awake for a long time after, holding his breath and waiting
for another.
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