War Is Over
"Professor? What do you see when you look into the mirror?" The young boy with unruly black hair asked, his young, innocent eyes alight with curiosity.
Dumbledore chuckled merrily to himself for a moment before replying, "I see myself opening a gift and finding a large pair of woollen socks, most people buy me books you see? No one has ever thought to buy me some nice socks…" He noticed that the young boy seemed confused, Dumbledore smiled at that moment, Harry would understand one day.
It was with a grateful sigh that Albus Dumbledore sunk into the plush chair behind his large mahogany desk. Unfortunately for himself, he was no longer capable of mustering the energy he had as a teen 150 years prior, and his weary bones protested at the workout given to them every day. His daily duties were harder than ever.
It was just a fortnight ago that saw an end to such an exhaustive war. It was such a relief, it felt as though he had passed on his beacon, he had abdicated his position as 'Leader of the Light' and passed on his mantle. Light's newest champion, one Harry James Potter, saw to it that his former pupil, Tom Riddle, perhaps better known as the Dark Lord Voldemort, was vanquished.
Ever since, the castle had been a flurry of activity, classes had been cancelled, with the staff and students all too busy rejoicing, celebrating the end of a dark era, to focus upon insignificant tasks as class and homework. Who was Albus to stop the merriment? Indeed, he was much more inclined to join in! Coupled with the fact it was now Christmas Eve, Dumbledore decided to let everyone enjoy themselves, it had been too long since the atmosphere had been so light-hearted.
Suddenly, a tingle spread all throughout his mouth, an overpowering desire overcoming this sage old wizard, a grin began to unfold across his face, before he knew it a hidden drawer was opened, and, fingers waggling excitedly in the air beforehand, he began to rifle through it like a child opening his gifts on Christmas Morning. Ah! To be young again…
"Aha!" The tone of his voice was triumphant as his hand emerged from the drawer cradling his prize, a bulging paper bag, positively filled with his favourite sugary snack, Sherbet Lemons. He popped one into his mouth delightedly, savouring the sour taste that assaulted his senses. He returned the sweets to their hiding place, inwardly cursing that damn deputy headmistress who insisted he stop eating them, forcing him to such drastic measures to begin with.
Still happily sucking upon his sherbet lemon, Dumbledore rose wearily from his desk, the purpose of his visit there now fulfilled. He walked up to one of the larger portraits within his office, murmured his password and entered his private chambers contentedly, quite happy to slip into bed with all clothing, shoes included as he slipped away into the vast nothingness that was sleep.
As the first rays of sunlight crept through the windows of his rather small room, Albus awoke, gingerly stretching his body before climbing out of his bed, almost apologetically.
As his eyes scanned the room, they zoned in upon a particularly large pile of gifts at the end of the beds, He did so love how the House Elves did that without waking anyone up, it was positively delightful, waking up to that sight, they did the little things that made things even more special.
As he studied the gifts more closely, however, he sighed. The large majority of these packages were large and bulky, most likely books, as if he hadn't acquired enough knowledge in his lifetime. Didn't people appreciate a good pair of socks anymore? He shook his head sadly. It wasn't unexpected to be fair; he'd lost all hope of that almost a century ago.
It was during these thoughts that one present began it's journey from the pile to floating in front of the startled headmaster's face, before beginning it's gradual descent into his wrinkled hands.
He eyed it warily; his logical side was telling him this was most likely cursed, or worse.
To hell with logic! He sighed; it was that side of his brain that generally tended to win these arguments; the voice that had led him into countless troublesome situations throughout the years, as well as the majority of his most enjoyable ones also.
He ripped open the gift eagerly, attacking the plain red wrapping paper with a newfound vigour. He was almost disappointed when, after opening a box concealed beneath the paper, there was only a card.
His bushy eyebrows were raised, he was rather intrigued. He snatched at the card, tore open the envelope and read.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,
When looking back on my life I remembered an event in my first year in which you told me your greatest desire, now that you have read this you should be able to see my gift.
HJP
True to the letters word, inside the gift box was a rather vivid pair of fluffy green socks, with little snitches fluttering across them excitedly.
For the first time in several years, Albus Dumbledore threw back his head and laughed, filling his bedroom with hearty, full-bodied merriment.
Removing the socks from their packaging, Albus put them to one side, before his keen eyes spotted several cylindrical parcels mixed amongst the larger, bulkier ones.
He reached for one of these gifts, wrapped in a shocking orange, Chudley Cannons emblazoned wrapping paper.
"Mr. Ronald Weasley, no doubt" He muttered amusedly, decidedly more upbeat this Christmas than he had been for many a year.
Upon opening the wrapping paper he found that this, too, contained a pair of woollen socks. These ones appeared to be hand knit, with the letters 'A' and 'D' on each one. Albus suspected that Molly Weasley may also have had a hand in this gift, because, as far as he was aware, Ronald Weasley had no knowledge of knitting. These socks were maroon, a rather splendid colour choice from the boy if he did say so himself. A note was also to be found amongst the remains of the gift-wrap, the messy scrawl which graced the parchment simply reading 'Your Heart's Desire'.
The third pair of socks, and the fourth, also looked to be hand knitted. The third pair were a rather shocking pink, sent my Ginevra Weasley. Perhaps not a colour Albus would have chosen himself, but a gift which was appreciated nonetheless, socks were socks, and Albus never said no to a pair of socks, he'd wear them. He also happened to know that Ginny helped her mother with those infamous Weasley jumpers as a child, so he believed she may have been able to craft these herself.
The fourth were from Hermione Granger. The rather practical pair of black socks were wonderfully graced with the presence of miniature, cartoon books, which flicked through their pages, showing off their contents constantly. He had seen the fantastic job she'd done on the hats she'd left for the House Elves, and had no doubt these socks were made through similar wandwork from the bright young witch.
All in all, Albus received no fewer than eighteen pairs of thick woollen socks, all using different colours and patterns.
He'd been forced to revise his opinion of his deputy headmistress, after Minerva McGonagall sent him a lovely pair of tartan ones, which he vowed to wear to breakfast that very morning to show his appreciation to the woman.
A rather horrible pair of knobbly ones came from Hagrid. They were some vile mix of orange and brown that reminded him rather greatly of vomit. He still felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward the half giant, it was the thought that counts… right?
As well as undoubtedly contributing Ronald's gift, Molly and Arthur Weasley sent a separate pair as well. Fred and George, the twins that had never failed to brighten up a rainy day during their time also sent a pair, although Albus carefully checked to ensure they were nothing more than that.
Neville Longbottom sent a pair of pastel blue socks, with a shocking green Devil's Snare plant gradually growing up the sides of it. Albus was rather impressed with this design, and filed a mental note with himself to ask Neville if he had made them himself.
Next up, wrapped in silver wrapping paper, was a pair of bright yellow socks, with little butterbeer corks dancing across them merrily. Also included with this was a note certifying that said socks were free of Nargle infestation, which illicited a delighted chuckle from the headmaster.
Professors Flitwick, Sinastra, Trelawney, Madam Hooch and Madam Pomfrey also joined in on the sock giving, each pair lovingly crafted by their creators.
Filius Flitwick's had little wands waving, a different pattern each time, with a coloured light escaping the wand at the end of each pattern, before the cycle restarted itself.
Sinstra's were black as night, with little constellations of stars knitted in with such precision Albus really wouldn't have been surprised if they matched their corresponding ones in the nights sky.
Trelawney, rather unsurprisingly, had opted for a crystal ball design across her pair. Albus had a rather nervous feeling as he handled these socks; Divination was a subject he didn't particularly care for.
Madam Hooch's gift were a pair of socks also, sky blue, with little clouds floating around lazily, quidditch hoops on either side with miniature players buzzing about. It must have been rather delicate work crafting those, Dumbledore mused, he simply must find out how she had done it.
Pomfrey's were perhaps the most practical, although disappointing. They were simply white, with no design or text upon them. No matter! He appreciated them greatly, one can never have too many socks, and these were socks for any occasion.
Even Professor Snape somehow found himself lured into this scheme by Mr. Potter. He had sent a pair that were black and bore the Slytherin crest, much to Albus' amusement, but for all of that, they were warm.
The last package came from Dobby. Inside was a pair of mismatched socks. One was red with gold stripes, the other, a deep blue covered with silver squares.
Included in this package also was a third and final note, this one once again from Harry.
Professor,
I hope you have a lovely Christmas. I've realized that you can never have enough socks, hopefully you reflect this sentiment.
Thanks for all you've done for me; I couldn't have made it this far without you.
Yours,
Harry Potter
Chuckling, Dumbledore sorted his new socks into his bureau drawer, before returning to his desk for his morning tea and perhaps a sneaky sherbet treat.
Later, as he was opening the rest of his gifts, he reflected that in his more than incredibly long life, this was his best Christmas yet.
AN: I had an early draft of this on my computer, and I'm pretty sure this was one of those stories I'd posted onto my old account, which is now lost to time.
Anyways I know this isn't Christmas right now but this is quite a lovely little story I wrote and I thought I should share it with you. It was named after the song Happy Christmas (War is Over).
I'm currently experiencing a little writers block with Pick Me Up, and I'll be back at school next week. But I'm hopeful for an update soon!
Thanks for reading guys, feel free to leave your thoughts.