A/N: Okay so this is totally a throwaway story that my friends and I made up one day in complete boredom. Don't take this seriously, it was done entirely in jest.
We don't own Harry Potter, or there would be some serious disturbinness in it.
There was a hunger rising up in Harry Potter; a hunger that would shake Hogwarts to its foundation. This was a burning hunger, a yearning hunger; a hunger of such epic proportions that the Giant Squid has never known towards Hogwarts. But this is not what this story is about. This story is about… Dobby. Now it was commonly accepted that Dobby loved socks. They were his passion, his life, his collection, his whole being. But what Dobby didn't know was another at Hogwarts loved socks, just as much as he; his name was… Albus Dumbledore.
One day Dobby was cleaning the Headmasters office when he came across a sock just below the Headmasters desk. This was a sock made of the scratchiest yarn yet to be found. It was pattered quite expertly for the scratchiness of the wool, with the design of a dozen dancing Basilisks' prancing through the snows of Scotland. Dobby had never seen such an amazing sock in all his years. He drew the sock closer to his nose and inhailed deeply.
He savored the scratchiness of the wool against his nostrils. He took in the intoxicating aroma of lemon drops and earwax and he swiftly stashed it in his pillowcase. As he felt the sock move across his body, beads of sweat began forming on his brow and his pillowcase grew tighter. His breathing grew faint and laborious in the face of such a beautiful sock. Just then Dobby's ears perked up as he heard someone entering the room.
Dumbledore walked in, his purple cloak billowing behind him. Dobby stiffened, hoping his Master would not notice the bulge beneath his pillowcase.
"Hello Master Dumbledore sir, Dobby was just cleaning sir." Dobby began to move around the room trying to focus on his cleaning, but as he moved the sock caressed his body, and each passing moment it grew harder and harder for him to focus on his work and ignore the wool rubbing against his leathery skin.
Suddenly, Dobby felt Dumbledore's' knowing gaze upon him and his breath grew shorter still.
"Is something wrong, my friend?" He asked quietly and patiently.
Dobby felt tears well in his eyes. "I'm sorry Master Dumbledore sir. I just had to, sir." Dobby began to slam his head against the bookcase.
"You had to do what Dobby?" Dumbledore asked, his gaze lingering on the two bulges in Dobby's pillowcase.
Dobby reached into his pillowcase, feeling his heart begin to race as he caressed the sock and brought it out for Dumbledore to see.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrow and smiled at the elf, all traces of the grandfatherly demeanor gone, replaced by an expression full of suggestion.
"Come here Dobby. You've been a bad elf."
"I is sorry Master! I didn't mean to be a bad elf. Dobby will go punish himself sir."
Dumbledore's face turned into a stern, hardened expression.
"Oh, no, I'm afraid what you did was too bad. I must punish you myself."
Dobby's face turned into a mask of fear and his lip began to quiver. The last time his master had said that he could hardly be considered alive for weeks afterward. The beating was horrible. Still though, this was Dumbledore, not Lucius Malfoy. Whatever his master was planning surely wouldn't be horrible.
He timidly approached his Master, who stared at him with a contemplating expression.
"That sock is a special sock; no doubt you've realized this by now." He contemplated how he first found the sock. It did, after all lead him to Grindelwald; the one true love of his life. But now, now, Grindelwald was gone. His mind once again returned to the present, his long dead memories influencing his physical state. It almost hurt to feel that again.
He whispered, mainly to himself. "It must be fate that you found it."
Dobby flushed confused, but strangely intrigued. It seemed his Master had the same reaction to the sock as he did. "What is Master going to do to Dobby?"
"What, indeed Dobby?" Dumbledore mumbled, nearly moaning. He grabbed the end of the sock and pulled Dobby towards him. The caress of the fabric on his skin sent him reeling, back to his first time with Gellart. His penis twitched, hardening even more than he thought was possible in his old age.
Dobby's eyes widened at the sight before him. He too was feeling an unnamable need causing him to harden and lengthen, almost to that of a humans. He gasped, his expression betraying what was happening to the wizened old wizard.
"Dobby, perhaps you too feel that this sock is a gift. It came to me when I was a young man, much like yourself now. It brought me much joy and… satisfaction."
"Ma-master?", he whispered, sensing the change in his tone.
"I'll show you what I mean." The sock, as if sensing what Dumbledore had said began to change, to morph into something. On the end where there was once a toe there opened a new hole. There was much fun to be had.
A/N: Please review.