Categories > Books > Harry Potter


by Alorkin 7 reviews

Dumbledore told Harry in HPSS what he saw in the Mirror of Erised. Why has no one ever gotten him what he wants the most? This is and will remain, a one-shot.

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: G - Genres: Humor - Characters: Dobby, Dumbledore - Published: 2007-03-10 - Updated: 2007-03-11 - 709 words - Complete



Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter (et al.). That privilege goes to the talented and lovely J. K. Rowling and her assigns, to whom I am eternally grateful, both for a fascinating read, and many bedtime stories for my daughter.

Albus Dumbledore awoke quite refreshed, that cold, snowy Christmas morning. Heaped at the foot of his bed, was the usual pile of wrapped parcels.

Most, he saw, were books, to judge by the size and shape, but amongst them, he noticed a dozen or more, smaller rolled and wrapped gifts. They were all about the same shape and size. Leaving his bed, Albus wrapped himself in his housecoat, donned his soft slippers and called out softly: "Dobby?"

The house elf immediately appeared with a loud 'crack'.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore? How may Dobby serve you?" He asked, in his painfully high-pitched voice.

"Dobby, would you be so kind as to bring me some tea with toast?"

"It is waiting for you Professor Dumbledore." Dobby pointed at the table across the room. There, sat a silver and crystal samovar filled with the steeping tea. Next to the service, a plate covered with a heavy napkin.

"Thank you, Dobby." Albus said quietly. Then: "Dobby, can you tell me who these are from?" He gestured to the pile of gifts.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore. They is from your friends, and admirers. More than that Dobby cannot say, for Dobby has given his word." The large greenish eyes filled with tears. Albus patted the elf on the shoulder.

"There, there, Dobby. You do not have to break your word. I shall find out myself in but a few moments. Thank you, Dobby. Happy Christmas."

"You is most welcome, Professor Dumbledore!" Dobby vanished with his characteristic 'crack'.

Albus picked up the first of the cylindrical parcels. It was light and squishy. The paper covering the gift was bright green and had snitches flying over its surface.

"Ah! Harry Potter, of course!" Albus tore the wrapping from the package, revealing a thick pair of woolen socks. They were light blue and looked very warm. tucked into the top of one sock was a note. It said simply: 'Your fondest desire. The mirror of Erised. Harry'

For the first time in many years, Albus Dumbledore threw back his head and laughed out loud, filling the room with hearty, full-bodied merriment.

Albus put the socks aside, and reached for the next cylindrical gift. This one was wrapped in orange. "Mr. Ronald Weasley, no doubt." He muttered. Opening the wrapping Albus found that this, too, held woolen socks. These seemed to be hand knit, with the letters 'A' and 'D' on each one. Albus suspected Molly Weasley had had something to do with this, as Ronald Weasley had no knowledge of knitting. These socks were maroon. A note inside also claimed: 'The mirror of Erised.'

The third pair of woolen socks and the fourth, were also hand knit. The third was from Ginny Weasley and the fourth was from Hermione Granger. Albus knew she'd done the knitting herself, having seen the wonderful job she'd done on the hats she'd left for the house elves.

All in all, Albus had received no fewer than eighteen pairs of thick woolen socks, in as many different colors and patterns. The tartan pair had come from Minerva McGonagall. One pair of horrible, knobbily orange-brown ones came from Hagrid. Others came from Mrs. Weasley, Fred and George, (Albus had checked carefully to ensure that those had been nothing more than socks.), Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, (Who included a note certifying they were free of Nargle infestation.) Professors Flitwick, Sinestra, Trelawney, Sprout, Madam Hooch and Madam Pomfrey. Even Professor Snape sent a pair. Those ones were black and bore the Slytherin crest, but were warm, for all of that.

The last package came from Dobby. Inside were a pair of mismatched socks. One was red with gold stripes, the other, a deep blue covered with silver squares.

Chuckling, Dumbledore sorted his new socks into his bureau drawer, and returned to his desk and his morning tea. Opening the rest of his gifts, he reflected that in his more than one hundred fifty years, this was the best Christmas yet.

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