Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit. No shit.

Harry Potter and the News: Chapter Three

By Big D

Harry wanted to let his feet lead him to Gryffindor tower. His stomach ended up driving him toward the kitchens. He had hardly eaten at the welcoming feast and he had used a lot of energy in the last couple of hours.

Along the way, he reflected on what had happened between him and Daphne. He was a little surprised at himself. Frankly, he hadn't expected to enjoy himself as much as he had. He was still very much torn over whether or not what he was doing was right or wrong, and his reactions to Daphne had disturbed him somewhat. The feeling of power had been intoxicating. Making her beg for his cock, fantasizing about her wearing his come on her face during class, the way his cock had jumped when he had made her feel that phantom spank. Harry shook his head. It would be so easy to lose himself in this, to take advantage of it to stroke his own ego.

Daphne herself was another question. Her submissiveness was a major, if unexpected, turn on. But where had it come from? Before tonight, Harry had never spoken two words to her, but from what he had heard, it was the exact opposite of her normal personality. The other thing that surprised him was how good she was at sex. He had picked her because he had thought she was unattainable. The way she had sucked him off, and the way she had worked her cunt muscles when he was inside of her, indicated that someone had attained her at some point. He didn't think that she'd ever been on a date at Hogwarts, so where had she learned how to do that?

Harry found himself and the entrance to the kitchens with more questions that answers. He tickled the pear and let himself in.

Unsurprisingly, Dobby was there to meet him.

“Harry Potter! Dobby is happy to see you!”

“Hi, Dobby. You think I could get a midnight snack?”

Dobby beamed. “Of course,” he said, his ears quivering, “Harry Potter is always welcome here.”

It was only a short walk to the nearest table, but by the time Harry got there it had already been covered in enough food to feed a quidditch team. Not for the first time he marveled at the industriousness of the little creatures.

Dobby tried to make himself scarce, but Harry stopped him.

“Dobby,” he said, “sit down and eat with me.”

Dobby's ears wilted a bit. “Dobby couldn't possibly sit with the great Harry Potter.”

Harry had been through this before.

“Dobby,” he said patiently, “are you my friend?”

“Of course Dobby is Harry Potter's friend.”

“Then stop offending me and sit down.” Harry said.

That got his attention, and the little elf practically leapt into the seat across from Harry. In all the time Harry had known Dobby, he didn't think that they had ever had a real one-on-one conversation, and Harry meant to change that now.

“How was your day?” he asked after taking a bite of his roast beef.

Dobby didn't seem sure how to answer, so Harry helped him along.

“You must have been quite busy, with school starting and all.” he said.

Dobby looked at him like he had gone mad.

“Surely, the great Harry Potter isn't interested in that.” he said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't interested.” he replied. “You guys always seem so busy down here, I was just wondering what you get up to.”

“Well,” Dobby ventured, “we is very busy. We must start preparing for the start of term a week early so that everything will be perfect for when the students be arriving.” He became a bit more animated. “Dobby had to make sure that all that luggage made it to the school safely. There is so much to do that he had to do it by himself.” Dobby added with a note of pride in his voice. “Then he helped make the desserts for the feast.”

“How do you know what all needs to be done?” Harry asked.

“What does Harry Potter mean?”

“Well,” Harry said, leaning back in his seat, “there's so much to do, how do you know what needs to be done and what's already been taken care of?” he asked.

“We just know.” Dobby replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You're lucky.” Harry muttered. His mind had drifted a bit and he stared off into space.

“Dobby?” he said after a moment.

“Yes, Harry Potter?” Dobby said. Harry had to hold back a smile at the earnestness in his voice.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Certainly, Harry Potter may ask Dobby anything he likes.” the elf replied.

“What was it like working for the Malfoys?” Harry asked after a moment's pause.

Dobby didn't answer right away, so Harry tried to let him off the hook. “You don't have to answer if you don't want to.” he said.

“No, Dobby does not mind telling Harry Potter.” came Dobby's voice. “Truly, it was not a great deal different than Dobby's work here at Hogwarts.” he explained. “There was cleaning to be done, beds to be made, food to be prepared... all the things that Dobby does here.”

Harry was a bit confused. “But, I thought you didn't like it there.” he said. “After all, didn't they punish you all the time, and make you do punishments on yourself for things you might have done, as well.”

“It was Master's right to punish Dobby. Dobby was his property.” the house elf replied simply.

“If it didn't bother you, then why did you want to be free?” Harry asked.

“Dobby did not want to be set free, Dobby needed to be set free.”

Now Harry was completely lost.

“I don't understand, Dobby.” he asked, “What do you mean that you needed to be free?”

“Dobby needed to be free because he was disloyal.” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Dobby could tell that Harry still didn't understand, so he tried to explain.

“For we house elves, loyalty is all we have.” The words came slowly, like Dobby was trying to articulate something he knew in his heart to be true, but had never had to put into words before. “It is the only thing that we truly possess, the only thing we are allowed to own. That is why we are given clothes when we are set free. If we have clothes, it shows that we do not have our loyalty anymore, because when we are loyal, we need no other possessions.” Dobby took a deep breath. “When Dobby tried to warn Harry Potter about the plot at Hogwarts, he gave away his loyalty. That is why he needed to be set free.”

Harry was dumbstruck. He had no idea that Dobby had given up so much to help him.

“Then why did you do it?” he asked. “Why do all that for someone you'd never met?”

Dobby looked at him. “Because it was the right thing to do. If Dobby had done nothing, Harry Potter may have been killed, and if that had happened, Dobby would have been just as responsible as his Master.” He smiled. “Dobby made his own choice, and he has no regrets. Freedom is not as bad as he feared, and he is very glad that Harry Potter is safe.”

Harry didn't respond right away. He was struck by how much Dobby's story paralleled his own. Dobby had gone against everything he believed in to help someone else, a stranger at that. He had faced the consequences of his actions and, as he said, he had no regrets. It wasn't a perfect parable, for one thing, Dobby hadn't committed any crimes, and he had only himself to answer to, not the entire world, but it was food for thought.

Harry reached across the table and gave Dobby's hand a squeeze.

“You're very wise, you know that, Dobby? And you're a good friend too.” Harry told him.

Dobby blushed a very unattractive shade of greenish-purple at Harry's words. By now, Harry had finished his meal, and made to leave.

“Goodbye, Dobby.”

“Goodbye, Harry Potter.” Even after the conversation they had just shared, Dobby couldn't bring himself to call Harry by his first name.

Harry mulled over what Dobby had told him as he returned to Gryffindor tower. It certainly explained a great deal, particularly about the house elves themselves. No wonder they were so abhorrent of the idea of being free. To them, being free meant giving up the thing that they held most dear, their loyalty. His mind turned to Hermione, and her fight for house elf liberation. What would she think about what Dobby had told him? He realized that he had no clue. He hadn't had a private talk with her since just after Ron died. She'd tried to tell him that Ron hadn't really meant the things he had said, but Harry hadn't wanted to hear it. Ron's words were still echoing in his ears, the sight of his broken body on the hospital bed still fresh in his mind when Hermione had tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault. He had ignored her. Worse, he had avoided her. For most of the last year, he had made excuses not to be in the same room as her. He hadn't wanted to look into her eyes, hadn't wanted to see the look of disappointment that he knew would be there.

Harry chuckled. He was avoiding Hermione because she was disappointed in him, and she was disappointed in him because he was avoiding her.

Talk about your vicious circles.

It was almost one thirty in the morning when Harry finally made it to Gryffindor tower. The Fat Lady wasn't happy about being woken up at such a late hour, and even less happy when Harry told her that he didn't know the new password, but he managed to badger her into letting him in. He was greeted by the comforting familiarity of the Gryffindor common room. Soft, high-backed chairs, warm fireplaces, and a Weasley, asleep on the couch.

Ginny Weasley was another person he had spent much of the last year avoiding. He felt even worse about avoiding her than he did about avoiding Hermione. She had watched her father die defending her and her family. She had been forced to watch while Death Eaters had tortured her twin brothers to death. She had been holding Ron's hand, trying to calm him down, when he'd gone off on Harry, and she had still been there, a few moments later, when he had taken his last breath. There were so many ways that Harry could have been there for her afterwards. As a shoulder to cry on, as a kind ear, or even as someone to blame it all on. But again, he had fled. He had buried himself in his studies and training, hidden away from the world, and left his friends to fend for themselves.

At the moment, Ginny didn't look like someone who had seen half of her family murdered before her eyes. Or someone who had been possessed by the darkest wizard in the world for almost an entire year. In fact, she looked quite peaceful. Her head was laying on the arm of the couch, and her legs were pulled up to her chest. She was wearing pink pajamas, with little green dragons on them, which would yawn and let out little puffs of smoke every once in a while. The pajamas were two-piece, with a button-up top and shorts that left most of her legs bare. Ginny had inherited her father's long, lean build, and would never have curves like Daphne's , but she did have beautiful legs, slim and toned. The position she was in put those legs on prominent display, and Harry couldn't help but look at them. Her shorts were pulled tight over her bum, and Harry followed the curve of her legs until he reached her toes, which were painted with a polish that seemed to slowly change color. He couldn't tell if it was a magical polish, or just a trick of the flickering light from the fire. He had an urge to run his fingers over the exposed skin, to find out if it was as soft as it looked.

He was brought out of his musings when Ginny gave a visible shiver. September in Scotland was hardly warm, but only one fire in the common room had been lit. Harry gave himself a slight mental kick for staring at Ginny while she slept, and pulled off his school robe. He laid it on top of her like a blanket, as softly as he could so as not to wake her, and turned to leave.

“Harry?” Ginny's voice came from behind him.

Harry stopped and closed his eyes. He considered simply continuing on to his dorm, but there was something in her voice that made him turn back. She had raised her head and was looking at him with wide brown eyes. Her hair had thickened and curled a bit, and fell slightly into her face.

“Harry, where did you go?” she asked, concern lining her features. She raised up a bit on the couch. “We've been so worried about you. First you spend the whole summer with those muggles, then you leave the feast early.” She looked away slightly, avoiding his eye. “I know we're not as close as we used to be, but if there's something wrong, I'd like to help.” Her voice was soft, almost pleading, and the corners of her eyes had become moist.

Harry's heart wanted to break, but he didn't think there was enough of it left to do so. He walked over and sat down on the edge of the couch, next to her. He reached out and brushed the hair out of her eyes with his fingertips.

“If we're not as close as we used to be, then it's mainly my fault.” he said slowly. “And for that, I'm sorry.”

Ginny looked at him again, just holding back tears. “You don't have to apologize.” she said. “It's just that you've been so distant, and we miss you. And then, when you didn't come for the summer, it seemed like you didn't want to have anything to do with us.” Her hand came out from under his robe and held on to his. “Please tell me what's wrong, Harry.” This time, she was pleading. “It hurts me so much, seeing you like this. Just tell me what I need to do to help, and I'll do it.” By now, a lone tear had escaped her eye, and was rolling down her cheek.

She wanted to know how she could help. A vision of Ginny, nude and covered in sweat, screaming his name as he came inside of her, flashed in Harry's mind. He crushed the thought ruthlessly. He wouldn't do that to her, not after all she'd been through already. He forced a smile onto his face and took his shoes off.

“Budge over.” he told her. She looked at him oddly, and he motioned that she should make room on the couch for him. He levered himself over her and settled in, with the back of the couch behind him, and Ginny stretched out in front of him. He pulled the robe over both of them and snaked his arms around Ginny's waist, his hands meeting across her stomach. He could feel the gentle play of muscles in her belly as she settled in against him.

“There,” he asked, “is that better? Not nearly so distant now, huh?”

Her sniffles had turned into slight giggles. “No, this is a lot better.” She sighed. “I think I could get used to this.”

For a few minutes, they simply stayed like that, until Harry asked a question.

“How's your mum doing?” He hadn't seen Molly Weasley since that day at the hospital. He could hear the smile in Ginny's voice when she replied.

“You haven't heard?” she asked.

Harry shook his head.

“She's seeing someone.”

Harry raised his head and looked down at her. “Who?” he asked. Harry couldn't imagine Molly with anyone other than Arthur.

There was that smile again. “Amos Diggery.” she said. Amos' wife had been killed only a few days after Arthur had.

Harry's head dropped back down. “Huh,” he said, “imagine that.” Another thought occurred to him. “Isn't he about fifteen years younger than her?” he asked.

Ginny giggled. “That's what mum told me... she sounded proud of it.”

“How did they get together?” he asked.

Now, she sounded a little sad. “Mum said that they kept running into each other at the same funerals. About a month ago, they went to one. Afterwards, they stopped at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, and the next thing they knew, they were making plans to meet again.” She tilted her head towards him. “Mum said that they both decided that they can't grieve forever, and they want to try to have as much happiness as they can, while they can.” The smile came back. “Bill says that Amos is just saying that to get into mum's skirts.” She laughed, but Harry didn't join her. “She misses you, too.” she said quietly. “You should come for Christmas dinner. I think that Amos would like to see you, as well.”

Harry snorted. “Christmas dinner with Amos Diggery and Molly Weasley... that shouldn't be uncomfortable at all.” he muttered sarcastically.

She put her hands on his, and gave them a squeeze. “They don't blame you.” she said.

“I blame me,” he said, “that's enough.”

The war. It always came back to the war. The war that Harry would have to end, or die trying. He touched his forehead to the back of Ginny's neck, and breathed in the scent of her hair. He caught a faint whiff of coconut, from her shampoo.

“Ginny,” he whispered, “can I ask you a question?”

“What?” She could hear the strain in his voice, and she was worried.

“Have you ever...” Harry stopped and started again. “Do you think...” Again he stopped and took a deep breath. “Do you think that it's okay to do something bad to accomplish something good?” he finally choked out.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Is it okay to do something that you know is wrong, in order to do something that you feel in your heart is right?” he clarified.

“Do you mean like killing one person to save another person's life?” she asked.

“Something like that.” he replied.

She considered for a moment. “I think so.” she said, “I mean, if it's so important that you're willing to do something that you would never do otherwise, then you should at least think about it.”

“What if you enjoy it?” Harry's voice was so low, even he had trouble hearing it.

“I didn't hear you, what did you say?”

Harry repeated himself, a little louder this time. “What if you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?” she asked.

“What if you enjoy the thing that you know is wrong?” he asked.

Ginny wiggled a bit in his arms, and twisted around until she was facing him. They were practically nose to nose, and he could see slight fear in her expressive brown eyes. She cocked her head to the side.

“How can you enjoy it, if you know that it's wrong?” she asked.

She didn't even know what the problem was, and she had already gotten to the heart of the matter.

Harry pondered that for a moment, and answered the only way he could make her understand. He leaned in, and kissed her. Her mouth was slightly open when his touched it, and he let his tongue flick across the inner part of her lips, teasing them open even more. She was caught off guard, but soon began to kiss him back, first along his bottom lip, then letting her tongue play across his. She moaned in his mouth, and pushed herself against him. She let out a soft whine when he pulled back. Her eyes were closed, and she ran her tongue across her lips, savoring the taste of him there.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked.

Her face was flushed, and her chest was pumping like a bellows. Every time she took a breath, her nipples strained against the fabric of her top. All she could do was nod.

“What if it was the wrong thing to do?” he asked.

She looked at him like he was speaking Chinese. “How could anything that feels like that be wrong?” she asked, after regaining her breath.

Again, she got to the root of the problem.

He let his hand run up her flank, over her top, until it was at her neck. He placed it at the top button of her pajamas, and looked into her eyes.

“What about this?” he asked. “Is this wrong?” He loosened her top button. She didn't say a word, so he continued down, popping buttons as he went. Every time he would tease a button open, he would ask again. “Is this wrong?” Every time, she stayed silent. Soon, he had every button open, but he didn't open her shirt. He let his right hand stray under it, and began softly stroking her stomach. Up and down, up and down, each time he went a little farther than the last, until his fingers were touching the bottom of her breasts. She gasped, and he asked again. “Is this wrong?” Stubbornly, she remained quiet, and he eased her onto her back beside him. He flipped open one side of her top, then the other, so that her bare torso was exposed to him. She had a light dusting of freckles on her breasts, which, while not nearly as large as Daphne's, looked mouth-watering nonetheless. They were capped by pink nubs, which looked hard enough, at this point, to cut glass.

Harry looked at Ginny's face. Her eyes were open as wide as they would go, and she was staring at his hand, which was resting just below her breasts. Her face was an odd mixture of longing and fear. Her eyes closed, and she let out a desperate sigh, when he let his hand slide up and caress her left tit. It really was a lovely handful, Harry thought. He stroked her breast, getting a feel for it. He let his hand slide to the side a bit, and stroked her nipple with his thumb. He pushed it down a little, and watched in amusement as it popped back up.

Ginny gave a small, startled yelp when he bent down and kissed her right tit. He laid a few soft, butterfly kisses on it, circling the areola as he went, then let her nipple slide into his mouth and gently suckled on it. He could feel it's hardness against his tongue, and he pressed down on it, so he could feel it rise again between his lips. Ginny's arms encircled him, and she brought her hands under his shirt, to caress his back. The feel of her slim hands sliding across him finished the job of making his cock hard, and now it strained the confines of his trousers. He let his left hand slide down to free himself, but along the way he found something more interesting.

Ginny's shorts had ridden down a bit, and when his hand reached her waistband, he felt a few soft hairs on the flesh just above it. He lifted his head from her breast, and looked down at his hand. It was stroking the place just above her waistband, where Harry could see a sparse line of short red hair, the beginnings of Ginny's pelt. Ginny could feel his hand there, and was raising her hips slightly. He laid his head back down on her chest, looking down her body, towards her womanhood. He played with the hair there for a few moments more, dragging the moment out, before he took the band of her shorts and pulled them down a little, revealing the slightly thicker, but still short hair beneath. The hair on her mound was actually a little lighter in color than the hair on her head, and was straight and fine to the touch. Harry let his fingers run through it, staying away from moistening folds below for the moment.

Ginny finally spoke. “H-Harry,” she asked, her voice breaking a little, “should we be doing this?”

He didn't look at her, but continued petting her fur. “That's what I asked you,” he said sadly, “but you don't seem to know any better than I do.”

“Maybe we should stop.” she said. She was shivering slightly, and her hands continued to stroke his back, under his shirt.

“Is this wrong?” he asked, once again.

“I don't know.” Her voice came back, huskier than before, but with a tinge of fear.

He slid his hand down farther, and cupped it between her legs. Ginny let out a long, low moan. He could feel the heat from her twat, and her juice began to cover his hand. He could feel her pulse, throbbing from her engorged lips, and her hips involuntarily flexed upwards, grinding her pussy into his hand. His hand began to rub her pussy, and she moaned a little louder.

“Tell me that this is wrong, and I'll stop.” To his own ears, his voice sounded pleading, but Ginny didn't respond.

He turned his head back to her, and took her breast back into his mouth. The twin feelings of his mouth on her nipple, and his hand on her pussy sent Ginny over the edge, and he felt her cunt twitch against his hand as she came. He sped up what he was doing, letting his fingers play along her labia, while his thumb stroked her clit. Again, her hips jumped off the couch to meet him. She started to make little meeping noises, as she tried not to yell out. Harry thumb was still on her button when his index finger began pressing into her sex. Her cunt grabbed his finger and squeezed down on it. Harry had a wacky image of shaking hands with someone who had a very firm grip. She was tighter than he expected, but he eased his finger in, up to the second knuckle, before adding another. Ginny had spread her thighs to give him better access, and he took advantage of it, pressing two fingers in, until he touched her hymen.

Harry was taken aback somewhat. Ginny had had at least two boyfriends that he knew of, but he had never given any thought to the fact that she might still be a virgin. The idea gave him a little thrill, and he let his fingers begin to move in and out of her snatch. He was careful not to break the barrier inside, though. He wanted to save that for later. A few moments later, he felt her pussy clamp down on his fingers as she came again. The little meeping noises had turned into not-so-little squeals, and they were now in real danger of being caught, but Harry didn't care. He was ready to take this to another level.

Ginny let out a groan of discontent when he pulled his fingers out of her and picked his head up off of her chest. He gave her a quick kiss, and scooted down the couch some. He was now kneeling between her thighs, looking down at her. She looked adorably sexy, with her pajama top open, showing off her lean, athletic torso, and her shorts pushed down to show the top of her furry, little red snatch.

Harry unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. He missed Ginny's surprised intake of breath when she saw his new tattoos. He reached down and took hold of her shorts, pulling them off, and tossing them aside. He wanted to fuck her, but when he saw her pouting pussy lips, he decided that he would rather have a taste first. He brought his face down to her cunt and nuzzled her folds with his nose. Her scent was strong and sharp, and Harry wished that someone would bottle it and sell it as perfume. He stuck his tongue out and gathered up some of her cum, savoring the clean taste of it. He pressed his lips down, and gave her nether lips a kiss. He pushed his tongue in as far as it would go, but wasn't quite able to reach her maidenhead. Her hands were on his head, tangled in his hair, and she was pushing her pelvis into his face. He reached around and griped her ass, to hold her in place while he assaulted her cunt with his mouth. Harry pulled his tongue out of her, and wrapped his lips around her clit, suckling on it the way her had her nipple before, causing Ginny to let out a short scream before she stopped herself.

Harry felt something nibbling at his chin while he sucked on Ginny's clit, and he looked down. Her pussy was visibly throbbing, biting at the air in front of it. He knew that she was as ready as she would ever be, so he straitened up and undid his belt and trousers. He was lost in his arousal at this point, and all he wanted to do was sheath his hungry cock in the nearest girl. He pulled out his dick and placed it at Ginny's sopping wet hole. He let the tip of his cock run up and down her slit, moistening it with her juices, and pushed the head in. She was so tight that he couldn't get it all in at once, so he would have to do it in stages. He was so distracted that he didn't see the look of fear in Ginny's eyes when she looked at him. He waited a moment for her to get used to him, and pushed in another inch, until the head of his cock was touching her maidenhead. He felt a smirk twist onto his face, at the thought that he was about to acquire another love slave.

Harry was pulled out of his dark thoughts by Ginny shoving him back . His cock flopped out of her and he fell back onto the couch, shocked. He raised his head to see Ginny rushing back to her dorm, her bare ass shaking as she scampered away.

He was stunned by what he had almost done. He had sworn not to use Ginny like that, only a half an hour ago. Harry felt sick. He sat on the couch, and put his head in his hands. What the hell was wrong with him? Ginny needed him as a friend, and he had almost turned her into his slave. Abruptly, he wondered why she had suddenly left. Was she afraid to lose her virginity? Or had she seen something in him that had frightened her off. Harry sighed. Either way, she was better off where she was. He gathered up his clothes and went to his dorm.

The Griffindor seventh year boys dorm was far quieter than it used to be. Ron was dead. After Seamus' muggle father had been killed in a Death Eater attack, his mother had moved them both back to Ireland, and was now home-schooling him. Dean's parents had decided not to let him go back to school this year. They had finally found out about some of things that were happening in the Wizarding World and had decided to move to America. Smart people, in Harry's opinion. Neville was still here, but his grandmum had died of a stroke a few months ago, and he was quieter than ever. Harry heard that he had been taken in by Professor Sprout for the summer, so he hoped that he was doing better.

So much pain, and Harry was the only one who could stop it all. But what would be the point, if he lost his soul in the process. At this point, he wasn't sure if he hadn't already lost it. He looked at his clock. Two-thirty. He needed rest, but he wasn't sure if mere sleep would ever be enough. He missed his nightmares. He'd stopped having them after Ron died, and he now knew that there were worse things than troubled sleep. He had once read that only soulless creatures didn't dream. Having nightmares made him feel more human.

Harry slept like a baby.