Toe Socks: The Expanded Extended Version
A/N: I loved the original version, but when I told Freelancer I really wanted to add to it, she told me to go ahead, so here it is. I hope I did it justice.
Knock, knock. Albus Dumbledore looked up from the paperwork on his desk. Who would be visiting him right now? "Who's there?"
"It's me." The voice was none other than Minerva McGonagall's.
"How do I know it's you?" he asked, smiling in spite of himself.
"I couldn't have gotten up here without a password, Albus," she pointed out from the other side of the door. " May I come in?"
"Minerva, is it really you, or is this Severus doing your Minerva impression again?" he asked, recalling a rather wicked impression the Potions Master had exhibited several weeks ago that had been superbly accurate.
"It's really - wait a minute! Severus does an impression of me?" Now he _knew_ it was Minerva.
"Yes, and quite a good one, I must say." He smiled once more before banishing the memory to a corner of his brain. "Come in, Minerva."
"Thank you." She entered his office, one hand behind her back.
"So, what brings you up to the headmaster's office at this hour on Christmas Eve?" he asked as she crossed the room to stand in front of his desk.
"Do I really need an reason to see you?" she asked, arching an eyebrow, the one hand still behind her back.
"You always did before." His voice was gentle when he reminded her of this, wondering if she realized just how beautiful she was.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her eyebrow rising higher and the other rising to join it.
He shrugged noncommittally, having no wish to start an argument with her. "Good question."
"All right. I confess. There _is_ a reason." She spoke with an air of reluctance.
"Ha. I knew it." He smiled up at her, feeling like a child all over again.
"Here." She withdrew her hand from behind her back and offered a lumpy package wrapped in tartan wrapping paper.
"Oh my. What's this?" he asked, taking the package from her with more than a trace of childish glee.
"It's your Christmas present," she explained as she sat down in the chair facing his desk.
"My. my Christmas present? Why, thank you. I'm flattered." He smiled at her before looking back down at the package. "What is it?"
She laughed musically at him, looking younger than she had in years. "Open it and find out."
"Oh, I couldn't do that. Christmas isn't until tomorrow," he explained earnestly, much as a child explaining to an adult why Santa was real.
"Then what, pray tell, is the difference between me telling you and you waiting to open it until tomorrow or you just opening it right now and finding out?" she asked, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth despite the fact that she'd raised her eyebrow again.
"That's not the point. It's the principle of the thing." He squeezed the package slightly as he said this, surmising that it was made of something soft because it gave easily. " And besides, you're supposed to ask. It's tradition. Do you remember last year, when I baked you those cookies and."
"And I could smell them and everything, but I still asked you what they were anyway?" she finished for him, smiling at the memory. " Of course I remember. And those cookies were delicious."
"I always thought you were a chocolate chip sort of woman," he told her modestly, prodding the package in his hands almost absently.
"Is that a good thing?" she asked, dark blue eyes amused as she watched him investigate the package without opening it.
"Oh, of course. Chocolate chip is my favorite." He winked at her and smiled.
"Then does that make me your favorite sort of woman?" she asked innocently.
"As if you didn't already see that coming," he returned softly.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, then both looked away, smiling shyly. "Well. are you going to open it or not?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," he objected, looking down at the package in his hands once more, suddenly wondering if she was attracted to him like he was to her.
"Why not?" she asked, leaning forward in her chair.
"Because I don't have your present handy," he replied with the air of one stating a given fact.
"So?" She leaned further forward and rested her arms on the edge of his desk
"I would feel terrible if you were to give me something and I were unable to give you something in return," he tried to clarify his reasoning for her, but she didn't accept it.
"You can give me the delighted feeling that is sure to result when you open that package and see its contents." Her air was that of a mother telling her child that he could have a cookie he wasn't sure he was allowed to have.
"Well." he wavered, very curious about what could be hidden by the tartan wrapping paper.
"Albus. Open. The. Package." Her voice, eyes, and face were stern as she straightened in her seat.
"You're sure? You're _really_ sure?" he asked, wanting to be sure.
"Would I have _come up here in the first place if I WASN'T 'really sure'_?" she countered, both eyebrows raised.
"All right. If you insist." He finally gave in, picking up the package and examining it to choose the best place to begin unwrapping it.
"Yes. I insist." She nodded, eyeing him over the tops of her square spectacles.
He finally chose a spot and, opening the package, gasped. "Oh, my."
"Do you like them?" Her voice was anxious as she leaned forward in her chair.
"Well, of course, but. but what are they?" He looked up at her curiously. "I mean, they almost look like gloves, but clearly, they're not."
"No, they're not. They're called toe socks." She straightened up in her chair as he pulled the socks out to examine them more closely. "I saw them in a Muggle shop in London a few weeks ago and couldn't resist."
"Toe socks? Ingenious!" A delighted smile spread across his face. "So you. you _put_ your _toes_ in there?"
"Yes, I believe that's the purpose." She nodded, smiling at his delight. "I haven't actually tried them out for myself; they just looked like something you would like."
"Minerva, you are _amazing_." He gave her an admiring look as he continued. "I always said that one could never have too many pairs of socks, but these. these are _more_ than socks! They're. they're _gloves_ for your _feet_!"
She laughed again as he examined them once more. "Well, I suppose you could think of it that way."
"And in Gryffindor colors, too," he added, studying the scarlet and gold stripes. "I don't know how to thank you. All the chocolate chip cookies in the world can't compare to this."
"Albus, they're just toe socks," she stated, amused at his enthusiasm
"That's not the point. It's-" she cut him off before he could continue.
"The principle of the thing, right?" She smiled softly at him.
"Yes. And the principle of the thing is that these are not just toe socks," he explained, his heartbeat tripping at the sight of her smile. He thought it was the most beautiful smile in the world. "This is a very thoughtful gift from a dear friend, and that's what truly matters. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Her voice was soft.
They made eye contact and smiled again. He glanced up, and his smile faded. "Oh, dear."
"What?" she looked worried.
"Look up," he instructed, a little worried himself as to what her reaction would be.
She did, spotting what he'd known was there all along. "Oh dear."
"It's mistletoe," he pointed out, just in case she hadn't figured that out.
"Yes, I see that. And - wait a minute." She gave him a suspicious look. "What is mistletoe doing in your office?"
"Well. I have to admit that I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow morning, but I thought I should be ready just in case," he admitted to it rather than lie. She'd figure it out anyway.
"You mean." Her eyes were wide when they met his once more.
"But only if you." His voice trailed off as he studied her nervously.
"Very well. Let's get this over with." Though she spoke with an air of reluctance, she was far from reluctant when his mouth covered hers in a sweet, soft kiss. It wasn't over for a long time. ~~ Finite ~~
A/N: I loved the original version, but when I told Freelancer I really wanted to add to it, she told me to go ahead, so here it is. I hope I did it justice.
Knock, knock. Albus Dumbledore looked up from the paperwork on his desk. Who would be visiting him right now? "Who's there?"
"It's me." The voice was none other than Minerva McGonagall's.
"How do I know it's you?" he asked, smiling in spite of himself.
"I couldn't have gotten up here without a password, Albus," she pointed out from the other side of the door. " May I come in?"
"Minerva, is it really you, or is this Severus doing your Minerva impression again?" he asked, recalling a rather wicked impression the Potions Master had exhibited several weeks ago that had been superbly accurate.
"It's really - wait a minute! Severus does an impression of me?" Now he _knew_ it was Minerva.
"Yes, and quite a good one, I must say." He smiled once more before banishing the memory to a corner of his brain. "Come in, Minerva."
"Thank you." She entered his office, one hand behind her back.
"So, what brings you up to the headmaster's office at this hour on Christmas Eve?" he asked as she crossed the room to stand in front of his desk.
"Do I really need an reason to see you?" she asked, arching an eyebrow, the one hand still behind her back.
"You always did before." His voice was gentle when he reminded her of this, wondering if she realized just how beautiful she was.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her eyebrow rising higher and the other rising to join it.
He shrugged noncommittally, having no wish to start an argument with her. "Good question."
"All right. I confess. There _is_ a reason." She spoke with an air of reluctance.
"Ha. I knew it." He smiled up at her, feeling like a child all over again.
"Here." She withdrew her hand from behind her back and offered a lumpy package wrapped in tartan wrapping paper.
"Oh my. What's this?" he asked, taking the package from her with more than a trace of childish glee.
"It's your Christmas present," she explained as she sat down in the chair facing his desk.
"My. my Christmas present? Why, thank you. I'm flattered." He smiled at her before looking back down at the package. "What is it?"
She laughed musically at him, looking younger than she had in years. "Open it and find out."
"Oh, I couldn't do that. Christmas isn't until tomorrow," he explained earnestly, much as a child explaining to an adult why Santa was real.
"Then what, pray tell, is the difference between me telling you and you waiting to open it until tomorrow or you just opening it right now and finding out?" she asked, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth despite the fact that she'd raised her eyebrow again.
"That's not the point. It's the principle of the thing." He squeezed the package slightly as he said this, surmising that it was made of something soft because it gave easily. " And besides, you're supposed to ask. It's tradition. Do you remember last year, when I baked you those cookies and."
"And I could smell them and everything, but I still asked you what they were anyway?" she finished for him, smiling at the memory. " Of course I remember. And those cookies were delicious."
"I always thought you were a chocolate chip sort of woman," he told her modestly, prodding the package in his hands almost absently.
"Is that a good thing?" she asked, dark blue eyes amused as she watched him investigate the package without opening it.
"Oh, of course. Chocolate chip is my favorite." He winked at her and smiled.
"Then does that make me your favorite sort of woman?" she asked innocently.
"As if you didn't already see that coming," he returned softly.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, then both looked away, smiling shyly. "Well. are you going to open it or not?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," he objected, looking down at the package in his hands once more, suddenly wondering if she was attracted to him like he was to her.
"Why not?" she asked, leaning forward in her chair.
"Because I don't have your present handy," he replied with the air of one stating a given fact.
"So?" She leaned further forward and rested her arms on the edge of his desk
"I would feel terrible if you were to give me something and I were unable to give you something in return," he tried to clarify his reasoning for her, but she didn't accept it.
"You can give me the delighted feeling that is sure to result when you open that package and see its contents." Her air was that of a mother telling her child that he could have a cookie he wasn't sure he was allowed to have.
"Well." he wavered, very curious about what could be hidden by the tartan wrapping paper.
"Albus. Open. The. Package." Her voice, eyes, and face were stern as she straightened in her seat.
"You're sure? You're _really_ sure?" he asked, wanting to be sure.
"Would I have _come up here in the first place if I WASN'T 'really sure'_?" she countered, both eyebrows raised.
"All right. If you insist." He finally gave in, picking up the package and examining it to choose the best place to begin unwrapping it.
"Yes. I insist." She nodded, eyeing him over the tops of her square spectacles.
He finally chose a spot and, opening the package, gasped. "Oh, my."
"Do you like them?" Her voice was anxious as she leaned forward in her chair.
"Well, of course, but. but what are they?" He looked up at her curiously. "I mean, they almost look like gloves, but clearly, they're not."
"No, they're not. They're called toe socks." She straightened up in her chair as he pulled the socks out to examine them more closely. "I saw them in a Muggle shop in London a few weeks ago and couldn't resist."
"Toe socks? Ingenious!" A delighted smile spread across his face. "So you. you _put_ your _toes_ in there?"
"Yes, I believe that's the purpose." She nodded, smiling at his delight. "I haven't actually tried them out for myself; they just looked like something you would like."
"Minerva, you are _amazing_." He gave her an admiring look as he continued. "I always said that one could never have too many pairs of socks, but these. these are _more_ than socks! They're. they're _gloves_ for your _feet_!"
She laughed again as he examined them once more. "Well, I suppose you could think of it that way."
"And in Gryffindor colors, too," he added, studying the scarlet and gold stripes. "I don't know how to thank you. All the chocolate chip cookies in the world can't compare to this."
"Albus, they're just toe socks," she stated, amused at his enthusiasm
"That's not the point. It's-" she cut him off before he could continue.
"The principle of the thing, right?" She smiled softly at him.
"Yes. And the principle of the thing is that these are not just toe socks," he explained, his heartbeat tripping at the sight of her smile. He thought it was the most beautiful smile in the world. "This is a very thoughtful gift from a dear friend, and that's what truly matters. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Her voice was soft.
They made eye contact and smiled again. He glanced up, and his smile faded. "Oh, dear."
"What?" she looked worried.
"Look up," he instructed, a little worried himself as to what her reaction would be.
She did, spotting what he'd known was there all along. "Oh dear."
"It's mistletoe," he pointed out, just in case she hadn't figured that out.
"Yes, I see that. And - wait a minute." She gave him a suspicious look. "What is mistletoe doing in your office?"
"Well. I have to admit that I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow morning, but I thought I should be ready just in case," he admitted to it rather than lie. She'd figure it out anyway.
"You mean." Her eyes were wide when they met his once more.
"But only if you." His voice trailed off as he studied her nervously.
"Very well. Let's get this over with." Though she spoke with an air of reluctance, she was far from reluctant when his mouth covered hers in a sweet, soft kiss. It wasn't over for a long time. ~~ Finite ~~