In A RutAuthor: inamacPrompt:
Masturbation, implied bestiality (transformed animal sex)Word Count:
The long hot summer of '76 is over, James is determined to find his animagus form – but he is not alone in the Forbidden Forest.Author's Notes:
I've always wondered why Severus chose a doe to remind him of Lily, when he hated James/Prongs so much.In A Rut
At the age of sixteen, and in his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, James Potter discovered sex.
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that sex discovered James Potter. Certainly he had no suspicion, that bright Autumn day in 1976 that before the sun set he would have lost his innocence and virginity (by no means the same thing, despite Professor McGonagall's teaching), in the most comprehensive way possible.
Sunset, naturally, would mean moon-rise, and that would mean that Remus would be taken to the Shack to endure his Transformation. Sirius and Peter would be with him, having achieved their own Animagi forms months before during the long hot Summer holiday. James, desperate to join them, had poured over the books and practised the spells with far more diligence than he gave his assigned schoolwork, but with, as yet, no result.
He had some hope, as he unpacked the latest book from his satchel, that this might be the day he finally succeeded. Peter, who had been the first to achieve the change, had used his newfound form to help smuggle it out of the restricted section of the school library, and James had carried it down to this secluded clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest in order to have another attempt at the enchantments in private, away from Sirius's teasing and Peter's earnest encouragement.
He ran his fingers over the raised, gilded lettering on the book's spine.Animagi to Zombies – Human Transformation in Theory And Practice by Plantagenet Wortlespoon
It was an old book, which was why it was kept in the Restricted Section. The language, with its long 's'es, and obsolete words was difficult to decipher, but it was worth persevering. The section on Werewolves was, the boys had ascertained, extremely accurate, which gave James a lot of confidence in the chapter on Animagi. The book fell open at a much-thumbed page.The Animagus reflects his True Nature in his Transformation,
he read. A Wizard will only achieve true Animagus form when he embraces the spirit of the creature into which he will transform.
Well, that made sense. Peter had always loved sneaking around and annoying people. It had come as no surprise that his Animagus form had turned out to be a rat. And he was brilliant at solving puzzles. His idea for an enchanted map of Hogwarts had been fabulous. And when Sirius, who was basically a show-off and had always been closest to Remus, had discovered his form as a dog the only surprise had been that it was not a performing poodle.
James wasn't much given to reflection and assumed that, once he got the spells right, the Change would just happen. He muttered the charms again, finger following the text, but his mind was elsewhere. He sort of hoped for something impressive like a tiger, but suspected, given his delight in playing jokes and tricks, a monkey, though neither would be inconspicuous in Wizarding Britain. A tiger or lion would impress Evans though; show that Muggle-born miss what a pureblood wizard could do. Not that he really cared what she thought, he reminded himself. He was doing this for Remus. Getting into Lily Evans' knickers was a private project. Though by crikey a tiger would scare the shit out of that slimy Snivellus. That would show the snooty swot.
He completed the spell, closed the book and looked round the clearing. The forest was quiet and the only sounds were the hammering of a woodpecker and the rustle of some small animal in the undergrowth. He sighed. Another failure. Nothing had happened. It looked like it was another evening of freezing himself in the buff to no effect. And he was getting a headache. He shook his head to clear it. The forest sounds were sharper now, as if someone had turned up the volume on a wireless. And the scents were stronger too. Not just the sharp freshness of the pine leaves, and the rich earthiness of the loam, but the acid sting of urine where a passing wolf had marked a tree, the salt-and-iron scent of blood where an owl had make a kill, the steamy miasma of centaur dung, all threaded through with a trail of musk that excited more than his sense of smell. He lifted his head, nostrils flaring, and gave a bellow that echoed through the forest.
The sound startled him almost as much as it did the clatter of birds that rose from the surrounding trees in panic. He raked the ground with one foot, and only then realised that he was standing poised on finger-tips and toes – no, on four neat, divided hooves, and the weight on his head was that of a crown of magnificent antlers. He roared again, the full-throated cry of a stag triumphant, all his foes vanquished, the forest his to command. He had done it! He had found his animagus form and it was amazing! Better than winning the House Cup, better than teasing that wretched Slytherin, better than girls... No. That was what he needed now. His loins were burning with urgency, with lust, with the needs of a dominant stag in full rut.
There was a blur of light, a flash of magic; and she was there, at the edge of the clearing, glowing against the dark shadows of the pines. A doe, white as milk, elegant and delicate. Her round ears erect in response to his call, her black nose twitching in response to his scent, her eyes, touched with all the greens of the Forbidden Forest, watching him.
James – the stag - Prongs!
he thought, naming himself for the twelve-tined rack that marked him as Master of the forest – started towards her at a trot. She watched for a moment and then, when he was only five paces away, jinxed and fled into the trees.
Prongs followed. She was small and lithe, twisting between the trunks, bounding over obstacles, splashing through puddles and small streams, kicking up leaves from the early autumn fall to rise swirling in her wake.
But he was stronger, his legs were longer, and where she had to dodge and weave he could power through, using his weight to thrust obstacles aside.
He was on her at last, on her, over her, and in her, triumphant with victory and lust.
As a sixteen year old boy James had thought that he knew about sexual frustration, but as a fully adult stag, in the grip of the rut, he learned the true power of release. The forest air was thick with magic, sex, and the scent of crushed pine.
Severus moaned. He knew it was his own hand on his cock, his own muscles squeezing on that oh-so-sweet spot, his own come painting the ferns onto which he'd fallen in reaction to the stag's leap, but – oh – it was what he needed, a pure, animal fuck. He had no more known, when he cast the Patronus charm in his panic at seeing Potter's transformation, what form his patronus would take than James had known his Animagus form. But the magic had responded to his desire. A stag needed a doe, and Severus had wanted... was not sure what he had wanted, revenge, perhaps, on a tormentor, protection, maybe, from a powerful animal loose in the woods, or sex, unhampered by human rivalry and jealousies.
The White Doe had achieved all that. The books had said nothing about a physical link between a patronus and its conjurer, but it took a powerful magician to create a corporal patronus, and the wizards who had achieved it left very few records.
He was smiling as he rose from the ground, brushed leaves and loam from his robes and tucked his wand back into his sleeve. Potter held no power over him now, as boy or stag. Whatever the future held, the White Doe would protect him. Always.