Fan Fiction Friday: Professor Trelawney and Dobby the House Elf in “The True Meaning of Liberty”

Good luck not getting turned on by today’s FFF. Sure, I’ve featured plenty of weird acts here on FFF, and plenty of odd pairings, but I don’t know how anyone can imagine…

?…and…

?getting it on and not spontaneously start masturbating right there on the spot. You have TR reader Rhea to thank for this FFF. Now please, for convenience’s sake, put your hands on your genitals and get ready for a erotic journey of a lifetime.

Dobby sauntered down the dimly-lit hallway, whistling a happy tune to himself. The house elves on the midnight shift had just taken over and he was looking forward to a good sleep. Dumbledore had graciously set aside a small room for him in one of the taller towers. It was perfect – very cosy and warm in the winter. Dobby shivered as a frosty breeze enveloped him from an open window and drew his coat closer around him.

As he passed by the statue of Magda the Magnificent, he heard a soft sobbing noise emanate from the darkness. He paused, feeling uncertain. It could be a ghost, a lost first-year – maybe even a trick of his mind. A ragged intake of breath finally convinced him that it was real. He was immediately concerned. He would do all he could to help rectify the situation that had caused this person grief.

Rectify… with his penis.

“Can Dobby be helping with anything?”

“Specifically, can ‘Little Dobby’ be helping with anything?”

He walked forward, purposely now. Behind the statue was a figure swathed in glittering shawls which looked like shining stars in the moonlight filtering through a nearby window. A mass of frizzy ginger hair cascaded down the back. The person was heaving with silent sobs.

Dobby suddenly caught the scent of cooking sherry. Alarm bells went off in his head. He knew how Winky had ended up, drowning her sorrows in liquor, and did not wish for this individual to continue down that same path.

Cooking sherry? Was this fan fic written by a 60-year-old? Who the hell drinks cooking sherry to get drunk anymore?

“Please, miss,” he insisted, “I will help you back to your bedroom.”

The person finally turned towards him. Dobby’s breath stopped in his throat.

Soft, smooth skin – small, perfect lips, lines of worry Dobby wanted to massage away with his fingers, and the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in his life. They were the colour of goblin-wrought silver, molten and enchanting at the same time. She was wearing spectacles, which made them appear a thousand times larger. Dobby stared into them for several seconds without moving, hypnotised by her melancholy gaze. A patterned wrap tamed her unruly hair, but it flared out at the sides like homespun wool.

Again:

?See what I mean about hot? Jesus, I just humped my wool blanket, because it was as close as I could get.

“It’s too late,” she said in a hoarse voice. “The Dark Lord is coming back, very soon. But no-one believes me. And there’s nothing we can do.” She hiccupped, and took a long swig from a glass bottle she held in her right hand.

Dobby’s heart felt overwhelmed with compassion. He knew exactly what it was like to have a conviction single-mindedly, only to be ridiculed or berated. How could he forget the year he tried so hard to protect the precious life of Harry Potter, only to have his angry words cutting into his soul? No-one had ever understood what it was like. But perhaps, this lady might…

“Dobby believes you, miss…what’s your name?” he asked.

“Sybill,” she whispered. Her eyes suddenly widened, and focused on him for the first time.

He had huge green eyes, incandescent and beautiful, almost glowing in the darkness surrounding them. They were fixed in an expression of utter concern. Immense, beautifully arching pink ears erupted from his head, stately and magnificent. His nose was unapologetically large, like those of Grecian statues. His mouth…was twisted in a grimace of worry, and suddenly Sybill wanted to do anything, anything at all to make it smile again.
Her eyes dropped down to his body. He was wearing a small, fitted coat with trousers.

Again:

?I was going to hump a pair of toddler’s trousers, but even FFF hasn’t fucked me up that bad yet.

“You’re – you’re a freed elf,” she croaked. Dobby puffed up his chest and stood up straight. She admired his regal, bony physique.

Look at that picture of Dobby above. Try to count how many adjectives you would use to describe it before you got to “regal.”

“Yes,” he said proudly. “Dobby is a free elf, enjoying liberty for two years now. Dobby was once a dejected slave, but now is in the service of the great Albus Dumbledore.”

Her eyes shone brightly with unshed tears as she smiled at him, admiring his great and untamed heart. Then, on impulse, without any thought, she reached her hand behind his head and brought him closer to rest their lips together.

Ah, you seem surprised, but the cooking sherry was actually 140 proof. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?

Dobby immediately stiffened, not knowing what to do.

I bet he did.

But as she slowly devoured his lips, a warmth began to build up inside him and he began to reciprocate. He tangled his long, spindly fingers into Sybill’s soft, soft hair, and breathed in her scent. Mingled with the alcohol was a touch of lavender, which for some inexplicable reason awoke a hunger deep within him. With a moan, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and felt their breath mingle, their souls touching.

Mmm… dobby tongue.

His hands pressed down upon her slim shoulders, gently but firmly pressing her down to the floor. He began to methodically take off her glittering shawls, one by one. They made a light tinkling noise when he threw them onto the floor. At last, part of her torso was bare. Dobby marvelled at the smooth, pale skin, tracing his name upon the flesh with a long finger. Marking her. Possessing her.

“Dobby,” she moaned. He was going much too slowly for her hunger to bear. She tore off his coat, and before he could chastise her for the destruction of his favourite piece of clothing she dragged him down and breathily kissed him once more. Her hands roamed over his wrinkly, grey-pink chest, lingering over the sparse patches of fuzz.

For those of you eager to imagine what it would be like to fuck Dobby, I might recommend having sex with an old peach.

She did not even notice that her skirt had ridden up over her waist, much too intent on the delicious feel of his textured, chapped lips, and suddenly with a hard thrust he was-
“Ohhhhhh God. Sybill.” His voice cracked on the last syllable. He was inside, irrevocably and and undeniably, and the moist warmth surrounding his member was almost too much to bear. She began to move beneath him, but he groaned. “Stop. Wait.”

“I need my camera phone. If I don’t take a picture, my goblin friends are never going to believe I fucked Academy Award winner Emma Thompson.”

For seconds they just lay there, their sweat-soaked bodies and panting breaths turning into misty fog in the cold air surrounding them. Sybill’s hands reached out to wrap around Dobby’s face, stroking his skin lovingly. His eyes flicked down to hers. Without breaking his gaze, he began to move, slowly and first, but then harder and almost violently.

You know, I can’t help but imagining ol’ Lucious Malfoy down the hall, his penis deep inside Draco’s skull, looking over at the Dobby-on-Trelawney action and thinking to himself, “Wow, that’s fucked up.”

Trelawney gasped in time with his thrusts, her nails scraping against his small, slender back. Their eyes were locked together in a silent cacophony of mindless pleasure.
Suddenly, he pressed his nose to touch her own. The feel of his knobbled, cold skin triggered something deep within Sybill’s womb, and with a strangled cry she came, tensing around Dobby’s member which shot spurts of man juice deep into her core.

?Not just for the image, but because my brain immediately corrected the sentence to “goblin juice,” which means I had to think about a Harry Potter goblin orgasming twice.

They held into each other tightly for a timeless, breathless second, and then he collapsed, exhausted, into her waiting arms. Because he was so small, this was not a problem for Sybill. She rocked him back and forth as if he were a small child.

Small child? Wait a second… Dobby, watch out, Trelawney wants an unbirth adventure! She’s going to shove you in her vagina for six months! 

They panted heavily for a time, trying to still their beating hearts. Sybill traced a finger over his sated face, smiling. “I love you, Dobby.”

It might seem weird for Trelawney to have fallen for a goblin so quickly and after one one sexual encounter, but I understand. I once fucked Benjamin Button, and we got married a week later.

He smiled back at her, untold depths of longing within his eyes. “I now know what it truly means to be free.”

“It means POONTANG.”

?Question: Can you can “Expelliarmus” on your own head and make your brain fly out? Because that sounds pretty fucking good right now.