A/N: Imagine that they were all at Hogwarts for Christmas in the 5th and 6th years (insert wink here)
A Lack of Maroon
At the end of my fifth year, I walked off the train anticipating a confrontation with my mother. In fact, it was the first thing I said to my mom when I sighted her. Brows furrowed, arms crossed, I walked over to her. She had only just opened her mouth when I interrupted her.
"Maroon Socks again, mom?" I had said. "Again? Honestly, haven't I told you every year since I was eleven that I hate maroon?"
Every year since my first at Hogwarts, my mother has sent me a pair of maroon socks as part of my Christmas present. Every year since my first at Hogwarts, I've sent her an owl scorning the color, and mentioned it a few times during the summer holidays. And still, the same time next year, she does it again. She knits a pair of sock in my size in that putrid color.
I had, over time, grown used to this vicious circle. I had come to expect the pair of maroon socks wrapped on the edge of my four-poster bed every Christmas day. Yet, however used to it I had become, it still gave me a twinge of annoyance.
After 5 years of socks of similar color, imagine my surprise on December's twenty-fifth in my sixth year. As I was tearing open my sock-shaped, paper covered lump, I was fully expecting to see an explosion of maroon… this explosion never came.
My eyes grew wide as out of the wrapping rolled a pair of…. Not maroon, but blue socks. After a few moments of staring, I closed my mouth, which had fallen open. Harry, who had just yelled and trapped a small, biting thing that Hagrid had obviously sent him under a nearby shoe, looked over at me, eyebrows slightly raised.
"What's up?" he asked, having seen my dejected expression.
"Err—" I started, trying to think of a lie that wouldn't make me look incredibly dumb. When I couldn't think of anything, I decided on the truth. "My… my mom sent me blue socks," I said, rather stupidly, "she— well, usually sends me maroon. That's all…"
Harry turned his head. "And… wait, you're sad about that?"
"Well… Yeah- sorta, I s'pose," I said.
Harry laughed for a few seconds, then saw my face and realized that evidently, I wasn't kidding.
"Wait, you're serious? Not getting socks in a color you hate makes you sad?" he said, confused. He just didn't understand, did he?
I didn't answer. I did, however, glare enviously at the newly unwrapped pair of maroon socks on the edge of his pillow. Obviously concluding I was simply not right in the head this morning, Harry shrugged and said, "Well, I reckon I should go put this outside" he said, nodding towards the creature under the shoe, "and tell Hagrid he ran away. I reckon it'll grow."
He shuddered slightly, then picked up the shoe and left, leaving me alone. I looked down at my foot and rotated my foot, which happened to be clad with a knit sock of maroon. There was a hole in the big toe, due to excessive use.
I slumped back in my chair, crossing my arms. I always hated the maroon socks! Why did I care so much that she had stopped sending them? I picked up the socks, still half wrapped. I then noticed there was a scrap of parchment in one of the socks. I pulled it out, and read:
Thought it was time to stop with the maroon, if you really hate it that much. I reckon these will match your eyes.
Love Mom.
I realized now, however much I despised the color maroon, it all changed when it came in the form of socks. I had always counted on my mother to send me maroon socks. And now she hadn't… well, I suppose you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Match my eyes… who bloody cares if my foot coverings match my eyes! I want some new maroon socks!
I opened the window and tossed the new socks out. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing these. There was too much of a… lack of maroon in them.
At this point, I realized I was freaking out over a pair of socks. Anyways, Harry would be back from his eradication of Hagrid's gift, and I didn't want to think about what he'd say If I was still obsessing over a change in sock coloring.
I shook my head slightly and picked up another present, still unable to get rid of the dejected feeling receiving the blue socks had given me. I opened present after present: books, pies, cauldron cakes, and Quidditch supplies now littered by bed (Hagrid's gift, which was also a creature with a desire to bite, had already be rewrapped and sent to Vincent Crabbe from an anonymous "admirer") as I picked up my final present.
I didn't recognize what it was at first, because it was in a box. I couldn't think of anyone who had sent me a gift that I hadn't already opened. I flipped the box over onto all sides. There was no gift tag visible. Not being one to refuse a gift just because I didn't know who it was from, I ripped open the box and felt a grin explode onto my face.
A pair of maroon socks lay inside the box, with another bit of parchment on top that read:
But I didn't get to read it right then, because at this moment, Harry walked through the dormitory door, swearing at the top of his lungs as his gift from Hagrid chewed off a large chunk of his hair, which had a half-eaten blue sock on top of it.
I glanced at him, shrugged and looked back at the note.
Just in case.