HARRY POTTER AND EVERYTHING RELATING TO THAT MAGICAL UNIVERSE BELONG TO JK ROWLING, WARNER BROS, BLOOMSBURY BOOKS ETC. AND I AM VERY LUCKY TO BE ALLOWED TO PLAY WITH IT ALL.

Welcome back GwenhyforBeatie

Warnings: Brief het fluff. Thoughts verging on bestiality.

The Dog Catcher

Bill walked down the front steps of Gringotts with his arm round his girlfriend. It was the end of the day, but there was still bright, crisp sunlight in Diagon Alley.

"Where would you like to go, then?" he asked her.

"Where ever you sink, Beel. I know you will make zee right shoice," she breathed up at him.

Her accent was so delightful. She wanted him to constantly correct her, but he enjoyed her frenchness too much. He loved the way she deferred to him. There wasn't another English person to whom she would have entrusted a decision about food. She thought he knew things, listened to him, let him guide her, looked up at him with those shining eyes.

He stopped walking; she stopped walking. He put his hand on her hair and looked right at her.

"Have you ever had Thai food?" he asked.

At least that way if she didn't like it they could both be superior about someone else's cuisine and he wouldn't feel compromised when he failed to defend his mother's traditions.

"Zat would be so exciting!"

She stretched up on her toes and gripped his arms. Her face was open and lit up. Her innocence gave him such a rush. He wanted to introduce her to everything and to be the hero in all the adventures she gleaned from the everyday. Her features were delicate and perfect, her figure slim, her hair shining. He hoped that there were plenty of men watching them. He loved the burn of their jealousy.

He took a quick look round. Laden shoppers were heading home, store owners were closing up. They were getting the usual looks. Men admired Fleur and glowered at Bill, women did the exact opposite. It felt good. He was turning back to watch Fleur entwining their fingers when a movement in an alley caught his eye.

His internal organs froze: there was a large, black dog sitting in the shadows by the side of Quality Quidditch. This wasn't supposed to happen. His life was in safe, distinct compartments. His mind flashed at him the view of himself and his blonde as it would look from where the dog was sitting. Nausea rose.

"What eez eet, cher?" Fleur asked.

More importantly, of course, he thought, when his synapses started firing again, it was very dangerous for Sirius to be here. The Death Eaters knew what his Animagus form looked like.

"That dog. It's not meant to … I mean I know the owners …" Owners? What a strange idea. Nobody owned Sirius. 'But he's mine' thought a dangerous corner of his brain. Bill mustered clarity, spoke again: "It lives on the other side of London. I'll have to get it back there."

"Where are its people? Why ees eet you 'oo 'as to …" Her language skills were falling apart. They did under stress. What stress? His must be showing, she was worrying about him.

The dog in the shadows started to move back off down the alley. If he went running off round the streets it would probably kill him. Bill ran, Fleur followed. The dog sat down.

"Ah! Such a lovely looking dog!" She reached out a hand to stroke it.

Sharp teeth snapped at her hand. Shocked, she started back.

"Bad dog!" Bill said firmly.

The mutt whined, nuzzling up to Bill's leg. It pushed at his hand with its nose.

"'E likes you." Fleur's voice was approving.

If she knew how much, she wouldn't have approved at all. Bill checked out the street for Death Eaters. How could he tell?

"It's not safe for it to be out," Bill explained.

"Zee Muggle traffic ees so dangerous."

That too.

"I'll have to take it back. Wait here. I won't be long."

"But 'ow? Eet ees impossible to Apparate wiz an animal," Fleur reminded him. "Is a long walk, I zink."

The dog licked Bill's hand. Absent-mindedly, he stroked its head. He needed Sirius to transform back into a man so they could Apparate. But he couldn't do it here. If even one person saw Sirius' face the street would erupt in panic. He would be instantly recognisable as the Notorious Murderer back on the front page of the Prophet today following the Ministry's announcement that they were blaming him for all the disappearances. Dundas Bindloss was now officially one of them.

But now Fleur knew that Bill had to get an animal from one side of London to the other. If they did Apparate she would be suspicious at how quickly he had returned to her. He wanted to be alone with her right now.

"Have to be the Knight Bus," he sighed.

There might be Death Eaters on the Knight Bus. He ought to put a Glamour on Snuffles. But there was no way to do it now without arousing suspicion.

"I weel go 'ome."

"I'll come round. See you there?"

"Eef is not too late. Don't worry about me, Beel. What you do is good."

She smiled her pretty smile up at him and Apparated away. Bill stuck out his arm and, with a clanging noise, the bus came bumping down the marble steps of the bank. The dog wagged its tail.

"Bill Weasley! How you doing, mate?" Stan Shunpike asked.

"All right, all right, Stan. How's business?"

"Mustn't grumble. Getting on?"

Bill put his hand on the scruff of the dog's neck.

"I'm sorry. I can't let that animal on, Bill."

"Stan! Please!"

"Rules is rules, mate. You can't bend them. You was Head Boy, you should know that!"

Bending rules was exactly what Bill had done as Head Boy. Especially for those he'd bent over. But Stan wasn't to know that.

"No animals?"

"Nothing bigger than a lap dog. Not safe to have them on the floor, not hygienic on the seats."

Stan spread out his hands as though they were tied at the wrist.

There was a slowly building grumble coming from inside the bus. The other passengers were complaining about the delay.

"He can sit on my lap!" Bill announced.

Stan looked doubtful. Bill grabbed Snuffles and got on the bus anyway. The doors closed behind them and the lurching began. Bill got an arm round the dog's chest and it sat down, forcing him to put his other hand under its rear. He stood up. Oof! Heavy! The breath was knocked out of him and he staggered to the nearest armchair. He had to pull the warm, furry body close to stop it from falling off. He smiled up at Stan as though he were perfectly comfortable.

"Sorry, Bill. Rules. It is a lovely dog, though. Is it yours?"

The wagging tail whipped Bill across the upper arm and enthusiastic dog pants blew over his face.

"No," he answered obstreperously.

Stan put out a hand and Bill tensed. But this time Sirius moved his head into the pat. His ears folded back onto his head as Stan stroked down his back. Bill's gut clenched and he gritted his teeth.

"Where to?" Stan asked.

That wasn't something Bill was keen to announce to a bus full of strangers. He glanced out of the window. They were travelling along a bleak mountain road now, tall pines on either side. Bill gave the London postcode for Grimmauld Place. That seemed to be enough for Stan who just nodded and held out his hand for the money. Bill had to push his hand under the dog's arse to get at the coins in his pocket.

When Stan moved off, Bill leaned back in the chair. The dog put its head on his shoulder and snuggled into him. Bill got both arms tight round him to stop him from falling off when they sped round the sharp corners. Warm breath puffed onto his neck. Sirius' breath. Dog breath.

He should have been in a civilised restaurant now. Fleur would have gazed adoringly at him over the wine glasses. He would have been warm and comfortable. He was unhappy that Sirius had seen them together. Sirius was supposed to stay locked up, safe and out of the way. He was meant to be available when Bill wanted him, had time for him, and not to go looking for him when it was inconvenient. Bill hated himself for thinking like that. He hated the old Pureblood ways.

He ran his hand down the long, black fur on the dog's back. Just like Sirius' hair. The eyes, staring into his, they were the same, too. That broad, red, wet tongue hanging out was the same one that had licked Bill's chest, his neck, his cock. But it was lying over sharp dog teeth and black lips. It was in a face with a wet, black nose covered in black fur. It was a dog, for Merlin's sake, an animal. Bill wasn't Aberforth!

He remembered the Muggle park, a fortnight ago. Snuffles, Sirius, Padfoot - whoever - had been sitting on the parched grass licking his genitals with that tongue. Bill couldn't work out what reaction would be appropriate to that.

He chuckled, remembering the old joke. He put his mouth very close to the dog's ear:

"Stop me if you've heard this one before. A bloke goes into a pub, right?" His voice took on the traditional rhythm for telling gags to your mates in the pub. "And there's this dog there, licking his privates." His hands were surrounded by black, silky hair, fur, whatever. Under his fingers, the flesh was soft and warm. "So the bloke goes to the barman, 'I wish I could do that,' to which the barman replies, 'If you give him a bone I expect he'll let you.'"

The bony ribs in his grip shook lightly. Then that tongue licked its way up his cheek. The dog's bottom wriggled into his lap. Bill's body reacted inappropriately.

The dog that was really Sirius, shuffled round, changed position, exposed its belly to Bill. Its balls sat just off his knee. The bus stopped and an elderly wizard was helped off. They set off again with a pitching motion and Bill tightened his hold, looking down to see the dog's head bent down as it licked itself clean.

When they finally made it to Grimmauld Place, Bill carried the black dog off the bus and shot over the road to number twelve, with it still in his arms. His urgency gave him the strength to bound up the front steps and the first flight of stairs. As he threw his furry armful onto the settee, it transformed in mid air into a man struggling to undo his flies.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope the hints at bestiality weren't too squink. I can't quite get my head round what's appropriate any more than Bill can. Was that OK? Review and let me know!