Foreword: This is the first of a series of one-shots I have planned. Each one is intended as its own specific incident, but they all can be fit in a cohesive story. Certain events have been changed to fit the story, so it is "AU". This one is set on December 27th, 1991, the day that Professor Dumbledore and Harry spoke about the Mirror of Erised. As all of the inspirations for my stories have (or will), the inspiration struck me in the shower. I hope you enjoy! –Stories From the Showerhead
"Back again Harry?" The rich voice of Professor Dumbledore filled the silent room. Startled, the boy whipped around to the source of it.
"Sir, I-" Harry began, but was interrupted by the man by a raised hand.
"Relax, relax, you are not in trouble Harry." The addressed did as was suggested, and Professor Dumbledore continued. "Men far older, stronger, and wiser than you have been entranced by the Mirror of Erised. In fact," he gave a half-chuckle, "Men far older, stronger, and wiser than I have been entranced." He gave a small smile, which, to Harry, looked inexplicably sad. He gestured for Harry to sit.
"I find it hard to believe, sir." Harry remarked, sitting down on the floor.
"Which part?" Dumbledore queried. "The part referring to you, or to me?" When Harry made to respond, Dumbledore cut him off with a twinkle in his eye. "Or do you perhaps think that there is no one older than I am?"
"Certainly not sir!" Harry rushed to affirm. "It's just hard to believe that there is anyone wiser or stronger than you!" At that, the humor left Dumbledore's eyes.
"Alas, Harry. I feel that I have wronged you greatly indeed if you believe me to be the pinnacle of wisdom."
"How, sir? If you don't mind me asking, how have you wronged me?"
Dumbledore stood, his knees creaking at the movement. He slowly walked over to where Harry sat and knelt down and sat next to him. "I have wronged you in a very deep way, Harry. I take it that when you were… growing up with your Aunt Petunia that it was less than pleasant."
Harry's voice grew hard, and Dumbledore saw a shadow of the man he would become. "Yes." Dumbledore knew then that Harry had figured it out.
"As much as I regret doing so, Harry, I was the one who placed you there." Feeling that Harry was about to explode on him, Dumbledore raised a hand in a placating manner. "I do not ask for your forgiveness, Harry, for I know that what I did is unforgiveable. All I ask is that you listen to why I did it and understand. Can you do that?"
Harry's face, still too thin from his childhood, hardened briefly, and Dumbledore's heart sank. Then, he gave a short nod, and Dumbledore began.
"At the time of your parents' death, the war against Voldemort was at its peak. There were dozens of wizards and witches being murdered every week. We didn't know who was a traitor and who was loyal to us. After your parents fell and Lord Voldemort vanished, I had no idea how I was going to keep you safe while trying to reconstruct our society from the ashes. Even now the effects of the war are felt. Your year is the smallest in Hogwarts' history, even smaller than the original class taught by the Founders. I was expected to lead the efforts to rebuild while simultaneously running a school. As I was too proud to acknowledge my limits, I took on both tasks. However, that proved unwise, as both aspects of my duty suffered tremendously for it. I am still trying to fix all the damage that was done to this school when I was neglecting my duty to it. Unfortunately, I was simply unable to take an active role in your protection apart from leaving you to be raised by your aunt. There are powerful protections that I put in place on you that are second to none, provided that you reside with close blood family."
"But why didn't you at least check on me?" Harry's face had gradually softened during Dumbledore's story, and now held a look not unlike betrayal.
"I know that it would not have taken much time to do, especially in recent years, but I fell victim to my pride again. I had assigned a monitor to ensure your well-being, but due to her… disability she was unable to take more than a peripheral role in either aspect. And, if I am completely honest Harry, I simply believed that you were well treated and that my sudden appearance would be unwelcome."
Harry looked pensive, and his face grew hard once more. "I understand, Professor." He nodded and turned away. The two sat in uncomfortable silence for a long while, each reflecting on the past. After a time, Harry turned back towards Dumbledore, and asked "Professor, what do you see in the mirror?"
Dumbledore looked at the mirror for a few moments. "I see myself wearing a pair of thick, brown, woolen socks."
"Really? That's rather…"
"Odd, I know. Especially considering all I've done. But the socks are unique, in that they are representative and literal at the same time."
"What do you mean, sir? If you don't mind me asking."
"Not at all, Harry, I think you are entitled to a few personal questions. Especially from me. Tell me Harry, what do you know about the magical aspect of World War Two?"
"I wasn't aware that there was a magical side to the war sir."
"Ah, very well. I see a brief history lesson is in order. But first, let us move to a more appropriate choice of seat." The both got to their feet, Harry quickly and Dumbledore slowly, and they both sat at desks. "There we go. Far better." Dumbledore began his lesson.
"I am sure you are aware of the muggle side of World War Two, the various factions involved, and the like. That was by far the more devastating side of the war. However, the magical world played a role in the power of the dictator Adolf Hitler. A wizard by the name of Gellert Grindelwald was the man behind Hitler's rise to power, as well as how he maintained his power base. Now, that is where I played a major role. I was, at one time, Grindelwald's best friend. However, that was long before he became the monster… or perhaps he always was the monster and I just didn't recognize it.
"Anyways, when I had just graduated from Hogwarts, my mother unexpectedly died. As my father was… indisposed, I became the head of the family. Unfortunately, I shirked my duty and did not take care of my sister Ariana like I should have, and instead spent my time with Gellert. Ariana had been traumatized by some muggle boys when she was young and had subconsciously placed a block on her magic. She could not actively perform magic but it would act as a child's does, always erratic and volatile. One day, Gellert and I got into an argument about our ideologies and Ariana wound up in the middle of it. One thing led to another and cooler heads did not prevail, and Gellert and I began to duel. My brother, Aberforth, eventually broke up the fight, but to my extreme dismay, Ariana was dead on the floor." At this, Dumbledore choked a little bit and fell silent for a moment.
"Do you… do you know who…"
"Killed her? No, Harry, I do not. I wish it was Gellert, because I eventually dueled him and defeated him utterly. I wish it was him because then my revenge would be taken. But… if it was me…" He fell silent again. "Well, every year, Ariana would knit me a pair of thick wool socks for Christmas. Every year they were a different color, and that year they would have been brown. I saw the wool she was using. Ever since that day, I swore never to wear wool socks again, as penance for my part in her death. It's silly I suppose, but those socks always were how she showed her love for us…" He trailed off and Harry knew the story was done.
He got to his feet and donned his cloak once more. "Thank you, professor. I really should be heading back to bed. Good night." He walked out the door and back to his tower. Dumbledore did not leave the room that night, so lost in memory and grief.
A few days later, on the first morning of a new year, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore walked into his office to find a small package on his desk. It sat atop a letter, which he opened.
Professor Dumbledore,
After hearing your story a few days ago and
thinking about what the socks represent
I've realized something. You don't want a
pair of socks. You want forgiveness. I can't
forgive you for your role in your sister's death,
nor for your role in the rise of Grindelwald,
as those things have nothing to do with me,
but I can and do forgive you for your actions in
my life.
Harry Potter
Enclosed in the package was a pair of brown knit wool socks. Dumbledore sat in his office for a long while, holding them, with tears running down his aged face. Then, slowly but more smoothly than he had moved in years, Dumbledore put the socks on his feet and put his shoes back on.
At breakfast, Dumbledore caught Harry's eye and lifted the hem of his robes to show Harry the socks. He nodded once, smiled, and resumed his conversation with Professor Snape. He felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and knew somehow that though he was responsible for Ariana's death, she would forgive him too. Perhaps I should give Aberforth a call. It's been far too long, and it's a new year.
The End.
Well, I hope you enjoyed that. It's my attempt to add some humanity to the all-too-often hated character of Dumbledore. He really is, in canon, a very complex character that is not done justice by his "fanon" counterpart. He is not perfect, but I believe he is ultimately a good man that did what he believed was best. However, he was not perfect and his judgement was flawed, he was certainly too prideful for his own good, and he lost sight of the human element in his plans. I hope that my characters were believable and worthy of further exploration. This is Stories From the Showerhead, signing off!