Despoiling Harry

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The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and others, and are used without permission; challenge to copyright is not intended and should not be construed. No profit is being made from the use of these characters and situations; these written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as authorized materials of these owners.

Beware of Brat
by Amanuensis

Summary: Yes, Harry, everybody does it. Now shut up.
Pairing: Harry/Padfoot
Categories: PWP.
Kinks/Warnings: Bestiality. Chan. Wanking.
Notes: For the Pornish Pixies Fantasy Fest request made by [info]beizy -- "SB/HP, chan, bestiality, Harry visits Padfoot ala GoF and finds him masturbating in human form, he turns into Padfoot to avoid the embarrassment, Harry ends up finishing him with Sirius still in dog form"
Thanks to betas [info]cluegirl and [info]florahart .
The first paragraph of the story is taken directly from the text of GoF.


"Poor old Snuffles," said Ron, breathing deeply. "He must really like you. Harry. . . . Imagine having to live off rats."

Harry had imagined it, and didn't like it at all. Which was why he refused to take Sirius's warning to heart, and sent word that no, he wouldn't stay safely in Hogwarts--he wanted to see Sirius, not just send notes.

And that was the truth; it wasn't only an excuse to get food to his obviously half-starved godfather. Sirius had been looking so very much better, just a few short months ago--and now he was thin and haggard all over again, as if the months of freedom with Buckbeak hadn't happened. It made Harry miserable. And Sirius was doing it on account of him.


If you're that determined, fine, it's better that I don't try to stop you. Otherwise you'll sneak out and come without my permission (it's what your father and I would have done, I don't mind telling you), and I'd rather have the heads-up if something should happen to you on the way. Meet me at the cave Saturday next, two o'clock.


No request for food this time; Sirius knew he didn't even have to mention it. Harry had such a hoard of kitchen-snatched treats he had to use a levitation charm to carry the bag all that distance under his cloak.

It was easier going now that he knew the way. And because he knew the way, and because he'd left a good bit of extra time--to make up for meeting at the cave and not at the stile--he found himself approaching the entrance rather earlier than two o' clock. That didn't bother him; if Sirius was out, he'd just wait inside, visit with Buckbeak.

Except Sirius wasn't out. Buckbeak was the one who was gone.

And Sirius hadn't been expecting him early, either.

It would have been wrong to say that Harry didn't realize what Sirius was doing at first; that he thought Sirius was just stirring in his sleep. No, he got it right away, but it was so shocking to see Sirius doing that that Harry's wits were immediately looking for another explanation. Which search they abandoned in a useless mire of embarrassment.

It wasn't as if Harry'd thought to call Sirius's name when he was entering, for God's sake. How careless would that have been? But neither, in hindsight, should he have continued the soft tread that had grown so second nature to him when prowling about under the Invisibility Cloak. And should have taken the thing off at the cave's entrance.

Because now...Sirius hadn't heard him come in. Didn't know he was there.

Wasn't stopping what he was doing.

What he was doing--Harry's face was afire just thinking the words, let alone watching Sirius do it--was getting off. On his back, left arm crooked behind his head, ragged robes parted down the center line of his body, right hand curved about a jutting red prick which rose out of the dark nest of hair at his groin. That hand was working back and forth, and Sirius's eyes were closed, and the sort of sigh that thought it didn't need to be muffled rose from his throat.

Harry should have turned and done that soft tread out of the cave. Out and away from the cave entirely until a little more time had passed, and then he should have returned like an ungainly troll wearing tin shoes with bells on, yelling "Snuffles, you there?" from fifty feet away.

Only he didn't.

He told himself it was because he was afraid he'd never take the first step without making noise and alerting Sirius. That was at least partly true. But he was also transfixed by seeing something so forbidden; not sexy, exactly, but shameful--though not completely in a bad way. Things that were shameful could make you want to block them out, but they could also make the heat rise at your neck, in a way that made you want to think about them more.

And he wasn't just thinking. He was watching.

Couldn't seem to stop watching, if he wanted to admit that to himself, watching Sirius's face, and its odd combination of release of tension, even as a different tension built. And it wasn't as if he could keep his eyes away from Sirius's groin, and that thick length in his hand--not that Harry hadn't glimpsed other boys' pricks in the showers, but they'd been boys, nothing so...large as this, and you didn't stare, in the showers, because you just didn't. Now he understood what everyone was on about, comparing size and all. He was getting his first real stare, and it was at an adult.

It was Sirius. Oh, God, there came that shameful rush that he wanted to block out. He shouldn't be watching, he shouldn't. Didn't matter that he was curious; would Harry have liked it if someone had been watching him? Never mind that it was...fascinating to see Sirius like that. Doing something Harry did himself--furtively, and not without a little guilt. Sirius looked anything but guilty, stroking himself, at his leisure, at his ease. Harry wondered if he'd yell when he came, or curse, or bite all sound back like a schoolboy behind bedcurtains.

Sirius sat up so abruptly, pulling his robe closed with one hand, that Harry took an involuntary step back. "Who's there?" He was on his feet in an instant, and advancing towards the spot where Harry stood--though, understandably, looking right through that spot. "Come on, who?"

Harry's breathing had cut off quickly enough to tell him that that must have given him away--he'd been almost panting, watching Sirius. He knew he'd gone crimson-faced--the sight of Sirius stroking himself had gone straight to Harry's own cock, and he hadn't even been conscious of it.

No good turning and running now. He shed the Invisibility Cloak like it had been a layer of water. "It's only me. I'm..."

He'd been about to say, I'm sorry, but it caught in his throat, as if he thought Sirius might not know how long he'd been watching, and he could pretend he hadn't seen. But then he recalled the heat of his face, and knew Sirius could see his tell-tale blush. And that he'd never believe it.

Sirius stood there frozen.

And then he shrank--shrank down into the shaggy form of Padfoot--who, for a moment looked as though he would bare his teeth and knock Harry over, but then spun on his four legs and loped away to the far corner of the cave.

Harry didn't think he could move. He realized he was in one of those moments that would happen more than once in life--the moment when all of your plans for the day suddenly run up against something unexpected and awful: dropping your toothbrush in the toilet, finding the shop you were headed for had become a "To Let" shell, losing your wallet and having no idea where, seeing the person you love kissing someone else. And he understood that there was nothing to do but turn one's back and go back the way one came, trying to put the pieces of your day, your life, back together.

Except...except this was stupid. It wasn't anything worth that. He wasn't leaving, dammit.

"Finite Incantatum," he murmured, flicking his wand at the satchel of food, and lowering it to the ground. "Sirius, I'm sorry," he said, louder. "I didn't mean...I just came in and...hell, I'm sorry."

Padfoot didn't stir. He'd collapsed with a huff, head on his forepaws, tail not even bothering to thump the ground.

"Look, please don't do this." Harry knew his face was still flaming as he approached. And he was going carefully; he could see Padfoot turning and snapping at him any moment. "I really didn't mean it. It happened to me once," he babbled. "Neville caught me--I thought I was alone in the room--I don't think I looked him in the eye for a month."

Appropriately, Padfoot continued to look away from Harry.

"I brought you food--please don't make me go." He was still babbling. "I've been so looking forward to seeing you. Are you-- Won't you--" He slumped.

Then he cursed. "Look, I'm sorry, but who cares! It's just--dumb, really dumb. I do it, everyone does it--what does it matter? Don't tell me you're going to be this...over that!" He was speaking in non-specifics and still blushing furiously; he was a fine one to talk. But he couldn't believe Sirius would keep shutting him out if he could get him to see how silly it was.

The black dog huffed again, shifted on the ground. Harry blinked as he noticed what the movement had shown him, just before the shift concealed it completely: Padfoot was still hard. And he probably would have liked to take care of it, had Harry not been there.

Rather, had Harry never come in. He couldn't imagine Sirius being much in the mood to continue if Harry made a point of leaving so that he could finish. Bollocks.

It had looked Red in a different way that Sirius's had been, and shinier, and not shaped the same, from what he'd been able to see. Thinner. More of a point on the end.

Harry swallowed as he realized that the thought was giving him those same groin-tightening feelings of his own again. Bugger, this was not helping.

He was going to have to go away. Go away and promise Sirius not to speak of it, not even to think of it again. Pretend it never happened. Oh, but it was infuriating. This was just so stupid.

Hadn't his confession that it had happened to him with Neville helped at all? "Look, I wasn't...put off, you know; it was just surprising. But it was a relief, sort of, you know." He was babbling again. But there was purpose to it. It was as if he thought confession would put them even, make up for his unforgivable stop-and-stare. "I mean, you never think anyone does it but you. There's no one I could talk to about it--I'd've slit my wrists before asking my aunt, or worse, my uncle. And Seamus Finnigan made a joke about it once but Ron got quite pink and made everyone feel so strange in the way he said he didn't want to talk about it that we didn't, and we haven't, ever, since then. It was weird. And then today, you...well, finding you--"

No. This wasn't going to work. Harry flailed mentally, grasped for any tack that might gain him ground. "--Yeah. I watched. Couldn't think of how to turn and go without making noise. So I watched. And you know what?" His voice dropped. "I kept thinking that I was glad to see it. That you made it seem n-natural, like it was something everyone did, and I knew that but I didn't know it, you know? That it was okay, because you--"

Padfoot hadn't even given him a glance, only twitched there on the ground like his erection was still giving him grief. Harry was ready to tear out his hair in frustration. "Oh, bloody hell, Sirius. Dammit, will it make things even if I let you watch me do it?" he yelled.

Padfoot was on his feet in a hurry. Harry had thought the dog was already tucked into the corner of the cave, but Padfoot managed to get even further away from Harry by hugging the wall and keeping his back to Harry entirely.

"I mean it, Sirius." He didn't. "Change back and talk to me, or so help me, I'll..." Oh, right. Like he was prepared to wank off right then and there because Sirius was ignoring him.

But as a threat, it had certainly made Sirius unhappy.


He bit his lip. "You want to hear more?...I started to get hard. When I was watching you. Like I wanted to do the same thing to myself. Not like that's anything different from the way I always feel, yeah, but I didn't think it was horrible or anything like that, it was just...well, it was...wicked. So, no, I don't mind making things even. Is that what you want?" No answer, but another squirm from Padfoot. "So, if you don't tell me, I'll just have to assume it is. That's what you're waiting for, you bad dog, you?" Harry almost clapped a hand over his mouth, hearing himself say that, but that would have had exactly the wrong effect, wouldn't it?

He didn't care that his face was burning. It only mattered that he was ready to do it. He forced himself to lie back, tucking his left arm behind his head as Sirius had done. He had to close his eyes, in order to make himself bring his right hand down to the fly of his trousers, covering it, cupping his awakening erection. "This is really, fucking embarrassing, P-Padfoot--" he couldn't bring himself to say Sirius just now--"but I'm doing it. So you can fucking get over it."

He cracked an eye. There was every chance Padfoot would bound past him in disgust and leave the cave, but Harry'd gone this far; he wasn't about to back down. And Padfoot wasn't leaving; he had his head turned, and was watching. Harry thought he read a dare in those eyes.

That gave him the courage to slide his hand completely into the waist of his trousers and pants, cup his erection skin to skin and curl his fingers about it. "I'm doing it. See? I'm doing it and I l-like doing it, just like...just like you." He gave his prick a squeeze, then a stroke. There wasn't much room within the confines of his trousers, but he made sure the motion was visible through the fabric. "Is that better? Is it enough? Or do you want me to keep going?"

God, he would have loved an answer. But Sirius didn't change back, neither pushed past him nor turned away; Harry bit his lip again and kept going. "Maybe you like watching. Maybe you're still mad because I got to s-see you, and you're not...seeing me. Not like I got to." The only response from the black dog was a push forward of the head--not a nod, no, but that same sense of a dare again. Oh, bloody hell.

But he still wasn't backing down. He removed his hand from his trousers and undid the fly, reaching into his pants and pulling his stiff cock free. He didn't have to close his eyes to do it, either; the look on Padfoot's too-knowing face was enough. "There. You wanted a look, you've got a look. And don't you dare laugh; you're older than me and laughing's not fair." Without waiting for a response, he circled it with his fingers and began stroking again. "Now you have it. Everything I saw. I'm going to lie here and do it until you think so too. D'you hear me, Sirius?" He fixed his eyes determinedly on the cave ceiling and tugged on his prick, rubbing his thumb over the tip, feeling the wetness that had gathered there. "So you go ahead and watch. I'll do it until I come if I have to. And that's not going to take long."

It was said less out of conviction and more to convince himself. But he tried to tell himself that if Sirius didn't want to see, he wouldn't be looking. And he was looking. Which meant...that maybe he did want to watch. Even if he wasn't thinking of it as getting even. Which meant he liked watching Harry.

Suddenly Harry thought that, yes, it wasn't going to take him long to come. Oh. That idea...that Sirius might be enjoying watching him. Oh. He gripped himself harder. Stroked faster.

"Yes..." he heard himself breathe. Yes. What if Sirius liked watching him, what if Padfoot was just as excited by it in dog form? Maybe...maybe Padfoot was too caught up in it to change back. Because of him. Oh. Oh, yes. Harder. Faster. Oh, fuck.

Harry heard a whine; at first he didn't realize it wasn't his own, but then he sensed the feeling of body heat and knew Padfoot had moved closer to him. And then--and then there was a touch, a touch on the back of his hand, Padfoot was nosing his hand, and--oh, fuck, Padfoot had licked his hand and licked his cock at the same time; that strong doggy tongue was all but pushing Harry's hand off his cock to lap at it from end to end, and Harry suddenly couldn't breathe as he watched, felt, Padfoot lick him, lap at his cock in long firm wet delicious fucking strokes, over and over and over...

His hand fell open at his side, useless. Padfoot--Sirius was licking him, getting him off, and he was helpless; it was amazing, brilliant. He would shoot any moment--and, fuck, Padfoot was still hard, that shiny red erection jutting from under his belly--Harry could no more resist touching it than he could have resisted the licking. He reached out, curled his fingers about the shaft of it, not sure if he should touch the swelling at its base but not caring after a moment, just holding it and sliding his hand back and forth in response to the dog's thrusts, and the licking didn't stop, didn't stop, and there was wetness on his hand and a rushing in his belly, his balls, a tightening that seemed to fight its way out the end of his cock until he lay gasping and damp and tingling on the cave floor, a panting black dog at his side.

Not for long, though. Padfoot lurched to his feet, stepped over Harry, and walked towards the mouth of the cave. Not running, though. He nosed at the satchel Harry had dropped; then proceeded past it to the exit.

Harry didn't worry. He thought he knew how it would go. Sirius would transform back out of Harry's sight; he'd come back in when he was ready to, and Harry would be waiting, clothes back in order as if nothing had ever happened. He'd offer the satchel to Sirius, and they'd eat some of its contents, Sirius taking the larger share and Harry having a few bites to be sociable. They'd talk about the Triwizard Tournament and the third task yet to come, and what news they'd picked up. They wouldn't talk about this at all.

Except when Harry left, the two of them would exchange a look that said that they knew they would talk about it again. One day. Just not today.

Harry could wait.


Despoiling Harry

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