FIC: Happy Feet [Harry Potter, Slughorn & Dumbledore x Grindelwald]
Title: Happy Feet
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books from Philosopher’s Stone to Deathly Hallows.
Warnings: None.
Characters & Relationships: Dumbledore x Grindelwald & Slughorn
Summary: Christmastime, season of miracles. Or at least strange in-jokes implausibly crossing time and space. “I do believe my socks are haunted.” // 626 words
Author’s Note: Written for lah_mrh in the 2018 Trick or Treat Exchange on AO3. Enjoy!
Happy Feet
“I do believe my socks are haunted, Horace.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, spelled to appear haunted, that is. But let’s humour our spellcaster and call it a bona fide haunting.”
“Er - alright then. What a curious thing to be haunted, socks. Is it one specific pair, or all of them?”
“Oh, just the one pair. Perhaps I ought to have expected it. They were a gift -”
“Aren’t socks always, with you? You have so many friends and admirers, Albus, and all you ever ask for is socks! Such a waste.”
“- to each their own, Horace, to each their own - they were a gift, delivered by international owl, from an anonymous sender. Plainly wrapped. No identifying features whatsoever. Hand-knitted, though, if I’m not mistaken, and quite lovely.”
“Oh, Albus, you are too trusting, my friend. Never just open unexpected post! Would you like me to check your socks for curses and the like? I have an extensive battery of tests and tricks to ensure my safety that I would be quite pleased to perform for you.”
“Not to worry, Horace, I am sure that’s unnecessary. I do take some precautions of my own.”
“Well, if you’re sure...”
“I am, thank you. The reason I bring it up: the imitation ghost haunting my new socks? Is a kneazle’s.”
“A ghost kneazle? Well, now I’ve seen it all. Charming.”
“Incredibly so.”
“Has it thrown up on your other socks yet?”
“He has attempted to mark my bed curtains as his territory and shred my slippers, and meowed ever so plaintively both times when he realized he could not. He wouldn’t stop until I put on those nice, thick socks he haunts and he could curl up on top of them. Thereby, of course, promptly robbing my feet of any warmth the socks could have provided me.”
“Ohoho, devious little rascal! That’s clever! Who do you think sent him?”
“I’m sure I have no idea.”
“Oh, pish-posh, Albus, your eyes are twinkling.”
“My wand slipped when I was polishing my spectacles this morning. The glare has been rather distracting.”
“Hm. Florentina Stewmaker, perhaps? That old girl has the most delightful sense of humor, and a creative knack to match.”
“Ah, but she already sent me an enchanted mirror that works normally when faced head-on, but creates the illusion of an enormous pimple when you catch a glimpse of it from the corner of your eye.”
“That darling. Then what about...”
The battered old kneazle showed up at the same time as usual that day, squeezing through the bars just as it always had. Gellert leaned his elbows on his knees to offer it his hand and dutifully scratched behind the creature’s ears.
“I knew they wouldn’t keep you out, little friend,” he said, voice markedly less croaky with disuse than usual after all the ‘explaining’ he’d had to do recently. “They’ll have to think of a better way to punish me for unauthorized wand use than trying to tell you what to do, ha!”
“Mrrrrow,” the kneazle said, and curled up atop his feet.
Kneazles, Gellert had often observed, seemed to have an uncanny sense for the ironic. It hadn’t immediately dawned on him when this one chose him, but when the memory finally struck him, it was with crystal clarity.
‘Albus, dearest Albus,’ he’d said one day. ‘What do you want out of your life, then? To retire early and complacently, less than you could have been, and spend the rest of your days with a kneazle curled up on your feet to keep them warm? Or to live to the fullest, to be great and do greater things yet, change the world and have admirers falling at your feet for it?’
He hoped Albus remembered that same conversation, and understood.
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books from Philosopher’s Stone to Deathly Hallows.
Warnings: None.
Characters & Relationships: Dumbledore x Grindelwald & Slughorn
Summary: Christmastime, season of miracles. Or at least strange in-jokes implausibly crossing time and space. “I do believe my socks are haunted.” // 626 words
Author’s Note: Written for lah_mrh in the 2018 Trick or Treat Exchange on AO3. Enjoy!
Happy Feet
“I do believe my socks are haunted, Horace.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, spelled to appear haunted, that is. But let’s humour our spellcaster and call it a bona fide haunting.”
“Er - alright then. What a curious thing to be haunted, socks. Is it one specific pair, or all of them?”
“Oh, just the one pair. Perhaps I ought to have expected it. They were a gift -”
“Aren’t socks always, with you? You have so many friends and admirers, Albus, and all you ever ask for is socks! Such a waste.”
“- to each their own, Horace, to each their own - they were a gift, delivered by international owl, from an anonymous sender. Plainly wrapped. No identifying features whatsoever. Hand-knitted, though, if I’m not mistaken, and quite lovely.”
“Oh, Albus, you are too trusting, my friend. Never just open unexpected post! Would you like me to check your socks for curses and the like? I have an extensive battery of tests and tricks to ensure my safety that I would be quite pleased to perform for you.”
“Not to worry, Horace, I am sure that’s unnecessary. I do take some precautions of my own.”
“Well, if you’re sure...”
“I am, thank you. The reason I bring it up: the imitation ghost haunting my new socks? Is a kneazle’s.”
“A ghost kneazle? Well, now I’ve seen it all. Charming.”
“Incredibly so.”
“Has it thrown up on your other socks yet?”
“He has attempted to mark my bed curtains as his territory and shred my slippers, and meowed ever so plaintively both times when he realized he could not. He wouldn’t stop until I put on those nice, thick socks he haunts and he could curl up on top of them. Thereby, of course, promptly robbing my feet of any warmth the socks could have provided me.”
“Ohoho, devious little rascal! That’s clever! Who do you think sent him?”
“I’m sure I have no idea.”
“Oh, pish-posh, Albus, your eyes are twinkling.”
“My wand slipped when I was polishing my spectacles this morning. The glare has been rather distracting.”
“Hm. Florentina Stewmaker, perhaps? That old girl has the most delightful sense of humor, and a creative knack to match.”
“Ah, but she already sent me an enchanted mirror that works normally when faced head-on, but creates the illusion of an enormous pimple when you catch a glimpse of it from the corner of your eye.”
“That darling. Then what about...”
The battered old kneazle showed up at the same time as usual that day, squeezing through the bars just as it always had. Gellert leaned his elbows on his knees to offer it his hand and dutifully scratched behind the creature’s ears.
“I knew they wouldn’t keep you out, little friend,” he said, voice markedly less croaky with disuse than usual after all the ‘explaining’ he’d had to do recently. “They’ll have to think of a better way to punish me for unauthorized wand use than trying to tell you what to do, ha!”
“Mrrrrow,” the kneazle said, and curled up atop his feet.
Kneazles, Gellert had often observed, seemed to have an uncanny sense for the ironic. It hadn’t immediately dawned on him when this one chose him, but when the memory finally struck him, it was with crystal clarity.
‘Albus, dearest Albus,’ he’d said one day. ‘What do you want out of your life, then? To retire early and complacently, less than you could have been, and spend the rest of your days with a kneazle curled up on your feet to keep them warm? Or to live to the fullest, to be great and do greater things yet, change the world and have admirers falling at your feet for it?’
He hoped Albus remembered that same conversation, and understood.