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Lily had always been in love with her father.
He was Harry Potter, after all.
He was the saviour of their entire world. Well, the saviour of Britain, at least.
And there was just something so tender about him. So lost.
So sexy.
Yes, she was old enough to admit it now.
She found her father sexy.
And beautiful.
And perfect.
When she was growing up, she had no idea what to do with her feelings. Not that she had to do anything with them. They didn’t cause her angst, or guilt, or shame.
No, the problem was the yearning.
Because she yearned for him. Ached for him.
Even though he was married to her mother.
Even though he was off-limits.
She ached to be with her own dad. To hold him. To kiss him. To bring him comfort.
She could do all those things platonically, and she did. Of course she did.
But it was never enough.
And it would never be enough.
Until he made love to her.
Until he claimed her.
That was what she desired above all else.
For her dad to choose her to be his lover. His wife. His everything.
Lily always thought her desires were hopeless, utterly hopeless—
But then Harry and Ginny got a divorce.
*
Harry was rather lonely, rather depressed.
He was an old Auror, beaten up, washed up.
And he was facing down alcoholism.
He was, he was …
All his children were grown, he was just barely getting over the end of his marriage, and he’d taken a sabbatical to get some rest.
But not working was causing him to crack up.
His whole life was going to shit.
He’d hidden himself away in his small divorcee flat, not wanting to see anyone. Not his friends. Not his kids. No one.
He couldn’t bear for anyone to see him like this.
So pathetic.
So, he sat in his sad, empty flat, and drank. He drank a lot. So much.
And he thought about a lot as he drank.
He couldn’t believe he’d defeated Voldemort when he hadn’t even been eighteen years old.
He couldn’t believe he’d lived in a bloody cupboard for ten years of his life.
And he couldn’t believe he was in love with his own daughter.
No, scratch that.
Not in love.
In lust.
He wanted to fuck his own daughter.
Oh, yes, he did …
It was a fact about himself he could only face when he was about twelve pints in.
And usually, he only had the thought once he was already stroking his hard dick through his trousers, his gaze trained on the photograph he had of her on his wall.
Ohhh, he wanted to fuck his little girl, he did, he did …
Yeah, he only thought like this when he was very drunk, very horny.
It was the only time he let himself have such thoughts.
Because Harry was a man who controlled himself. He was a man of morals.
For over two decades, Harry hadn’t cheated on his wife. No matter how many women threw themselves at him. No matter how thoroughly their marriage had deteriorated.
And he’d controlled himself at work. Never losing his temper. Never jumping to conclusions. Never taking the bait when some arsehole dark wizard called his dead mum a slag.
Never, never—
Harry controlled himself.
Even though he wanted his daughter’s pussy.
Dear God, did he want it …
Lily was a gorgeous young woman now. And truth be told, she’d been gorgeous since the very first time he held her in his arms. Not in a sexy way. No, in a reverent way. Because Harry adored his little girl. And he would always adore her …
Another truth: He’d wanted to fuck her since she was sixteen years old.
Before then, she had been awkward and pimply, and he’d mourned the loss of his sweet little angel. He’d been afraid for her to grow up. To start hating him. To leave him.
But she hadn’t started hating him. And her devotion to him had only grown.
Her devotion—and her tits.
Merlin, what a pervert you are, Harry thought, downing yet another pint, finishing it off in a few hearty gulps.
The world went sideways on him.
Mmm, it felt good, so good.
It was time for him to go to bed. To get himself off.
Staggering, he left his settee and went to his bedroom, now utterly blinded by drink. He flopped down onto his bed, barely getting his trousers and shirt off. He lay in the darkness, thinking of Lily, and he reached for his cock again.
But his cock was no longer hard.
No, he was too sad now, too lost, too drunk.
Tears flooded his eyes.
This is my midlife crisis, he thought.
How could he feel so lost when he’d accomplished so much?
How many people had he saved over the course of his forty plus years? How many?
Harry thought about the young boy he used to be. How brave that boy had been. How tough. And how much he’d deserved love.
Lily reminded him so much of himself.
He wished he could have known her when he’d been younger. They would have taken care of each other. Harry would have protected her, and she would have protected him. And they would have understood each other in ways that Ron and Hermione could never understand him.
Never, never.
These were strange thoughts to have about his own daughter.
His need for her was all mixed up in his head.
But it didn’t matter.
Not when he was determined to never touch her inappropriately.
Now outwardly crying, Harry rolled over onto his side and sobbed into his pillow. He gave himself over to his sorrow, aching for his daughter, aching for companionship, aching for his childhood back.
It’s all so fucked up, Harry thought, and then he passed out.
*
Several hours went by, an eternity, but Harry still woke up crying. Literally crying.
Then he realised he wasn’t alone in bed.
A cool hand touched his heated forehead. “I’m here for you, Daddy.”
Startled, Harry looked toward the voice, and there was Lily. For a moment, he was too stunned to speak.
“A—Are you a fantasy?” he got out.
Lily smiled in the darkness. “Your magic called to me. I felt you—and your sadness.”
He gulped dryly, still trying to steady his thoughts. “You shouldn’t be here, Lils.”
“I want to be here, Daddy. For you.”
He’d fallen asleep with his glasses on, but now the lenses were all smudged. “You shouldn’t call me Daddy anymore, love. You’re too old for it.”
Lily just stared at him. She had hazel eyes—his dad’s eyes. And the look of them was bright and intelligent. Sometimes mischievous.
Her eyes glinted now. Strangely.
“Dad,” she said quietly, and placed her hand on his chest.
“Don’t,” he said, not exactly sure what he was trying to deny her.
“I want to.”
“It’s wrong.”
“No, it’s not.” Her soft hand smoothed down his stomach, coming to stop at the waistline of his boxers. “I just want to comfort you.”
“I must be dreaming,” he croaked.
She frowned. “You’re drunk. I don’t like it.”
“I’m not, I’m not,” he said—because he didn’t feel like it.
Then she leaned down and kissed him.
Kissed him.
His own daughter.
It made him moan. Loudly.
She shuddered against him.
“We can’t do this, Lils,” he murmured.
“I don’t care,” she murmured back.
Lily shifted onto his lap, straddling his hips. She was wearing a dress, her thighs spread wide open for him. And for his dick.
Harry latched onto her hips, acting on pure instinct.
They stared at each other through the darkness.
“I don’t want you to feel it,” he croaked.
She ground down on his erection. “I already do.”
“God, Lils.” He urged her down into another kiss.
Their tongues found each other, stroking together, and it lit him up all over.
His mouth probably tasted terribly of ale, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She continued to grind down, now whimpering into his mouth.
Something broken within Harry, the last shred of his self-control, and he flipped them over with a growl.
Harry pinned her down and took her mouth over and over.
He felt her cunt pulsing for him as he did it.
His little girl.
No, don’t think of that, Harry told himself sternly, except … Except he wanted to think of her like that.
He aroused him tremendously to think of her as his little girl.
Because she was.
Because she always would be.
Even as he took her womanly body, claimed it, made it his.
“I love you, Lils,” he gasped into her mouth.
“I love you too, Daddy.”
Harry ripped off her dress, then her knickers, his mind nothing but hot need.
Lily was beautiful, so beautiful. Her breasts were a perfect palmful. And her cunt was very wet for him. So wet.
His daughter wanted him to fuck her.
He aroused her.
“Oh, God, darling,” he gasped, his fingers finding her swollen clit.
They stared into each other as he stimulated her.
Lily’s mouth dropped open.
“You want this?” he asked. “Tell me again.”
“YES!!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Daddy, yes, yes!”
Harry kissed down her trembling stomach to taste her sweetness.
Her cunt was warm and dripping, and so velvety. He couldn’t wait to feel her on the inside.
He ate her out with relish, savouring every lick, every suck.
She cried out for him. Her thighs began to shake.
My little girl, my little girl …
“Please, Daddy,” she cried, thrashing a little. “I need you.”
Harry eased up to take her mouth again. He let himself utter filth: “You want Daddy’s cock, darling?”
She bit her lip hard and nodded.
Harry got his cock out and eased inside her. He felt the clench of his daughter’s cunt in his very soul. She buried her nails into his back, clinging.
“Been dreaming about this cunt,” he murmured, trembling all over. “Been drinking to stop the dreaming.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she gasped, arching up.
“No, call me Harry.”
“Harry.”
He pounded into her then, unable to be gentle. He wished he could make love to her, to be utterly tender, but his dick had other intentions.
He could be tender next time.
“I love you!” Lily cried out.
“I love you too,” Harry moaned, taking her mouth again. His thumb found her clit, rubbing it. Then: “Come for me, Lily. Come for your Daddy. For the man who loves you.”
Lily followed his command, her head thrown back, her breasts heavy.
Her cunt went so tight around him.
“I love you, I love you!” she repeated, riding her pleasure.
Harry groaned and emptied himself deep inside her. He cried a bit as he did it, so overwhelmed by the reality of what they were doing.
When it was all over, they lay together in bed, Lily’s head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around her thin shoulders.
“I’ve been dreaming about that for ages,” Lily murmured.
Harry blinked in surprise. “Really?”
She raised up to look at him properly. “I love you, Harry. And not just as a daughter. I—I want to be with you. Be your person. Your lover. I want to take care of you.”
Now he was blinking back tears. He cupped her face lovingly. “I love you too, my darling. I’ll have you in any way you want. As my lover. As my daughter, my friend. Any way.”
Smiling, Lily kissed him deeply, and they both moaned quietly.
The night suddenly didn’t seem so dark for Harry. Not with Lily by his side.
And, somewhere deep, he felt the little boy in him begin to heal.