"Professor? Professor McGonagall?" the bespeckaled man called to the older woman in robes. "Professor!"
The now much older witch turned and her eyes brightened. "Potter! What are you doing here? It's Christmas morning! Shouldn't you be with your family?"
They at the Hogwarts entrance, its tall opening seemingly smaller than Harry remembered it being only twenty years ago or so. The pang of nostalgia resided in his chest. The school looked much better than it did over two decades ago. The damage having been dealt his final school year had almost been irreparable if not for the effort made by so many of the students' parents. It did not look the same as the first night he arrived, eleven years old and engulfed in a world he never knew he belonged to. A wing had been added. "For all the books about you, Dad," James had joked.
"I would be, but Ginny's taken them to Molly's for the morning. I have something I need to do here first. It's long overdue," Harry explained. He thumbed the object in his coat pocket. "I wondered if it would be okay, Professor- I mean, Headmaster," he smiled," if I were take a small walk around the grounds. For old time's sake."
McGonagall's eyes wavered only for a moment before she smiled warmly at him, "Of course, Potter. Hogwarts is always here for you."
"Thank you. Merry Christmas, Professor."
"Merry Christmas, Harry."
The wind had turned chilly and beat against his coat, which he drew closer as the chill crawled up his skin. His glasses grew misty with the perspiration in the air. The closer he got to the lake, the colder it seemed to become.
Where is it? he wondered. Surely, it hasn't been moved?
Harry had been wandering the grounds for some time, wary of Professor McGonagall. He did not want her to see him near the lake. It was not until he remembered one of the secret passages in the school was he sure he had escaped her. He felt like a young boy again, lurking the school at night, cautious of Mr. Filch catching him after dark.
"There!" Harry exclaimed aloud. Walking briskly, he approached the stone tomb, a familiar figure smiling down at him behind half-moon glasses settled on a crooked nose. "Hey there, old friend," Harry smiled.
Dumbledore's tomb stood tall and strong as ever, resembling the passed headmaster in a way that Harry almost felt like Dumbledore could hear his greeting.
"It's Christmas, sir," Harry said, his throat tight, not from the cold, but from mourn. "I brought you something. I asked Hermione to make them, since she's good at that sort of thing.
From his coat, he pulled out a pair of knitted wool socks.
"I'm sorry it took so long."
Dumbledore smiled down at him still as he placed the socks on the foot of his tomb. Harry smiled back, tears pooling in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly, though he knew no one was watching him.
"Merry Christmas, professor."