The Sugar Quill
Author: Cassandra Wingman (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Thick Woollen Socks  Chapter: Default
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╨╧рб▒с>■  GI■   F                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                ье┴7 Ё┐ *bjbjUU "Z7|7| &      lффффффф°°°°° ° Ё$$$$$$$$ИКККККК$∙ Jоф$$$$$оЄфф$$├ЄЄЄ$Иф$ф$ИЄ$ИЄЦЄИффИ$ ?uОН├°°мFИИ┘0 ИcЄcИЄ°°фффф┘Erised Albus Dumbledore sat on the floor in the room stroking his long, silver beard, that look of deep thought passing through his eyes. Harry Potter had just left. Dumbledore wondered if the boy would, indeed, heed the warning he had been given and stay away from the Mirror of Erised. Something in Dumbledore's gut told him that, yes, Harry was intelligent enough to know words of wisdom when he heard them. He supposed that Harry would grow to be a delightful combination of his parents. He certainly showed their promise: James's taste for adventure, and Lily's uncontrollable curiosity. A twinkle returned to his blue eyes as he thought of Harry's question: What do you see when you look in the mirror? Harry surely must have realized by now that his answer had not been the whole truth. Dumbledore commended himself for such a clever response, then suddenly sank back into his thoughts. For a moment, he thought about going to his Pensieve, but brushed it aside. NoЕthe Pensieve held memories that were too painful and real. Ah, Albus, heed your own advice, he told himself, but then impulsively decided that there was no harm in an occasional glance. His eyes flicked towards the mirror and he found himself standing and approaching his reflection. Indeed, he did see himself holding a pair of thick woolen socks. They were hand-knitted, and flashed different colors when worn. The remains of a simple brown wrapping lay on the mirror's floor and a young woman in her early twenties stood at his reflection's side, beaming with pride. She was a beautiful young lady, with long auburn hair that fell to the back of her knees and bright, twinkling blue eyes. She smiled at him from the mirror with admiration and love, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly. Just like Lucy, Dumbledore thought, tears forming in his eyes as he remembered his late wife, Louisa. The instant the thought crossed his mind, an old woman with silver hair pulled up in a twist appeared beside the young woman. He tore his eyes away immediately. If he did not stop, memories would flood and soon he's be staring at Lucy, the young woman, and the pair of socks through foggy, tear-filled eyes. Glad he was capable of becoming invisible, Dumbledore began to make his way back to his office, mysterious tiny dots of wetness appearing on the stone floor as his otherwise undetected form made a beeline for his Pensieve. A hunger for memories, true memories, had consumed him. When he reached his office, his mind so clouded he would later not remember anything between walking through the door and sticking his nose in the silvery liquid of his thoughts. However, every memory in his Pensieve had been preserved without a hint of fading. There was Lucy, looking at another version of himself as if he had just asked her if she cared for a Cockroach Cluster. He had, in fact, just proposed to her for the first time! Her hands were on her hips and her head was tilted to the side a bit. She was shaking her head and her thin eyebrows were arched high as she tried to read past his eyes. "No, Alvin." "Albus," he heard his own voice correct her. He glanced at his younger self, slightly amused. There was no beard, only auburn hair that had grown to his shoulders and was tied back at the nape of his neck. He saw his own eyes twinkling with delight as he looked upon her. She was wearing a Muggle dress while he wore his wizard's robes. She looked at him as if he were mad. She shrugged, "I must be going, Albert. Good-bye." The older Albus Dumbledore smiled slightly to himself. She had eventually gotten his name right and after about three hundred proposals, she had finally gotten so sick of him she said "yes"! Adapting to wizard life had taken quite a bit of adjusting for Mrs. Louisa Dumbledore, but she had taken everything lightly, even the dangers surrounding them. The room swirled about and Dumbledore soon found himself taking a peek at his first few weeks of fatherhood. His oldest son, Richard, lay in his younger self's arms, staring up at him with wide, curious blue eyes. He had been named Richard after Lucy's father, who had been much more supportive of their marriage than her mother had been. The room swirled again and little Ricky stood on tiptoe trying to peek into the cradle to see his baby sister, Lyriel. He looked up at his father with the Dumbledore blue eyes and asked, "Dad, can I hold her? I won't drop her, I promise!" Young Albus Dumbledore lifted up the infant and placed her in his five-year-old son's arms, secretly taking out his wand and whispering "Wingardium Leviosa," just in case. The older Dumbledore took control of his thoughts and forced himself to skip over the next few memories. He did not need to see such horrible things right now. He could remember the pain clearly without the help of magicЕ One day, Lucy was at his side, smiling, shining, laughing, and just being the same Lucy she had always been. The next day, she was gone; killed by Grindelwald. He had been devastated, borrowing the will to live from his children, only pressing on because they needed him. His anger towards the Dark Arts increased and he worked his hardest to become more and more powerful to fight against the most despicable of his kind. He had his revenge. After Grindelwald's death, he had concentrated on his children. Richard and Lyriel soon grew up, married, and had families of their own. Albus Dumbledore's grandchildren brought forth a new hope within him. Iris, Simon, Nigel, Alexandra, and Tatiana brought him a joy that he had thought he had lost. Then came Voldemort. If Grindelwald had hated Albus Dumbledore, then Voldemort despised him. The attacks on Dumbledore were not meant to kill him-yet. First, misery had to be thrust upon him. Lyriel, her husband, and her three teenage daughters had been the first lost. Three days later, Nigel, Richard, and his wife were killed, leaving only Simon. Simon was in a panic for the last few weeks of his life, trying desperately to protect his pregnant wife. Just before he died, he had begged his grandfather, "Should anything happen to me, take care of Paula and the baby for me!" Simon did not live to see the birth of his daughter, and Paula died in childbirth. Luckily, the baby Aurora had been spared. Albus Dumbledore had raised the child from infancy, showering her with protective spells, and most importantly, love. "AuroraЕ" he whispered into the emptiness of his Pensieve. The room swirled about and suddenly he was at home, hand-made Christmas decorations covering every inch of the room. He sat in a rocking chair near the window, a lumpy brown package in his hand. A small child looked up at him with bright, twinkling blue eyes. Her chubby hands were clasped together in anticipation as he tore open the package to reveal a pair of clumsily made, hand-knitted wool socks. "Granddad, 'Bella taught me to knit! Do you like them?" "Oh, Aura, I love them!" he immediately put them on his feet. One was far too long and the other was a bit snug, but his eyes danced at the sight of them. He stood up, lifting the girl in his arms and spinning her around. She giggled and squealed with delight. "Oh, I love you Granddad! The room spun once more to the following Christmas, when Aurora, once again, gave her great-grandfather a pair of socks she had knitted herself, "Arabella says I'm getting better!" She glowed with pride. The invisible spectator tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but to no avail. The scenery changed to the Sorting Ceremony. He watched as Aurora happily pulled the hat over hear ears. "GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted almost instantly. She ran over to the cheering Gryffindor table and sat down next to a tall boy with fire red hair who seemed to gape at her whenever she was not smiling back at him. Dumbledore smiled to himself. Aurora had been sorted into Gryffindor, but that had never stopped her from making friends in other houses. She and Athena McGonagall, Minerva's niece, were quite close with Bianca Lin, a rather ambitious Slytherin in their year. It shocked and impressed many of the teachers that Athena and Bianca, rivals of the Quidditch field, could be so light-hearted and happy when they were together otherwise. Aurora did not get to see them play together. She did not make it to her third year. Voldemort struck again, this time in Hogsmeade during the summer holidays. Aurora had been buying wool "to start her traditional pair of socks for the beloved great-grandfather", said the Daily Prophet. Dumbledore suddenly saw himself reading that paper, his eyes vacant and almost helpless. On an end table beside his chair was a piece of parchment scribbled with mocking, tormenting words. She will be one of us, or she will be killed. From what I understand, the girl loves life and knows you value hers. Odd, how love can backfire. Such weakness Dumbledore. Where will you find your strength now? A few months later, baby Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord. Aurora was never found. Dumbledore pulled himself from the Pensieve. He had not meant to see the terrible memories, but then again, he never did. They just always followed the good ones. The image in the Mirror of Erised hung in his head. He knew she would have been such a beautiful woman. Even at age eleven, Bill Weasley, later the notorious "ladies' man" gawked at her. Bianca Lin, whose parents were well-known Death Eaters, always sent him a Christmas card and from what he heard from Minerva, was still quite close with Athena. Where do I draw my strength? he thought as he put his Pensieve quietly back in its place, From the love of my family. You could never take them away from me. They live in my memories and in my heart. а 45Щ┼ *█ ▄ ю ■ ~ Г уЎЎ√%ьэJ%W%&ч&?)\)Щ)* *ўяыыяыыыыыяыыыыы6Б]Б5БB*\Бph  CJOJQJaJ R╞ ыю И а жЕ╕kZфа╬у╖╒  - ┤!¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ *¤┤!Й"О$&ш&?'?)* * *¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤√ 1Рh░╨/ ░р=!░"░#Ра$Ра%░ i8@ё 8 NormalCJ_HaJmH sH tH <A@Є б< Default Paragraph Font:^`Є: Normal (Web)дdдd[$\$ &Z     *)┤! **, *+ ж░-9%л│╥┌Аъ% &TXЭазО ж"┐"\%^% &3333  KellyAC:\Documents and Settings\Kelly\My Documents\ThickWoolenSocks.doc @А & &°Bc & & &P@  Unknown            GРЗz А Times New Roman5РАSymbol3&Р Зz А Arial9РЗЯGaramond"0ИЁ╨h╖;zF╖;zFА]B!Ёа┤┤ББ0Д&2ГЁ  ErisedKellyKelly■ рЕЯЄ∙OhлС+'│┘0hРШи┤─╨▄ь № $ 0 <HPX`фErisedrisKellyellellNormalKelly1llMicrosoft Word 9.0@@┌.ВН├@┌.ВН├А]■ ╒═╒Ь.УЧ+,∙о0Ё hp|ДМФ Ьдм┤ ╝ ╧фdBД&а Erised Title  !"#$%&'()*+,-■   /012345■   789:;<=■   ?@ABCDE■   ¤   H■   ■   ■                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Root Entry         └Fp▌РОН├JА1Table            .WordDocument        "ZSummaryInformation(    6DocumentSummaryInformation8            >CompObj    jObjectPool            p▌РОН├p▌РОН├            ■                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           ■       └FMicrosoft Word Document MSWordDocWord.Document.8Ї9▓q
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