Socks

Silas stood before the magnificent, mysterious Mirror of Erised, his heart beating slightly faster with anticipation and a barely perceptible hint of nervousness. He stared at its gleaming surface, waiting for the image to change, waiting to glimpse the deepest desire in his heart.

The image in the mirror rippled like water and began to reform...

A few seconds later, it stabilized.

Silas stared at the scene in the mirror, completely stunned. He blinked, then leaned closer, as though he could not believe what he was seeing.

There was no grand spectacle in the mirror. No great power, nor any long-lost family.

Instead, it showed an utterly ordinary scene—or rather... one of supreme laziness:

The "Silas" in the mirror wore incredibly comfortable, soft silk pajamas and lay on a huge four-poster bed that looked impossibly plush, covered in a thick down comforter and fluffy pillows. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, and there was even a faint, contented smile on his lips. He slept blissfully and deeply. Sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains and fell over him. The room was so quiet that only his even breathing could be heard. The entire scene radiated absolute peace, comfort, and... utter idleness.

Silas looked at his mirror self, sleeping like the world had ended and he had no quarrel with it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. After a long while, he squeezed out a speechless sound.

"Uh..."

This was nowhere close to any possibility he had imagined! Where was the power? The mysteries? The sense of belonging? How had it turned into sleeping?!

Harry curiously leaned over and looked into the mirror as well, but it still reflected the happy image of him with his parents. He turned to Silas, saw the indescribable expression on his face, and could not help asking, "Silas, what did you see?"

Silas snapped out of his shock and speechlessness. Pointing at his peacefully sleeping reflection, he solemnly declared to Harry in a tone that mixed absurdity, self-mockery, and an inexplicable enlightenment as though he had seen through the vanity of the world:

"See that? This is my greatest pursuit in life—a peaceful sleep without anyone disturbing me, until I wake naturally."

No burden of saving the world, no tedious magical research, no worries over schemes and intrigue, not even any need to think about what to eat for lunch. Just the simplest, purest, most perfect rest and relaxation. Perhaps, for Silas, who carried memories of two busy lives and knew the future might be full of trouble, that utterly unburdened peace was the most extravagant and most genuine desire lurking in his subconscious.

Harry looked at Silas beside him, whose face seemed to say, "So this is how unambitious I am," opened his mouth, and for a moment did not know how to respond.

But Silas suddenly laughed and shook his head. "All right, it seems my ideal is this plain, unadorned, and boring. Fine, we've seen it. Let's go."

He looked once more at his peacefully sleeping reflection. What the Mirror of Erised showed might not have been the greatest dream, but it was certainly the truest Silas. "Potter, shall we go?"

Harry stared longingly at his parents' smiling faces in the Mirror of Erised and shook his head hard. His voice choked with tears, yet remained firm. "I'm not leaving! Silas, I want to look at them a little longer! I finally got to see them..."

Silas watched Harry immerse himself in that illusory happiness and sighed inwardly. A thought quietly surfaced. Looks like I need to find a way to get the Time Stone sooner... Even if I can't change the past, I should at least see whether time magic can pull Potter's parents back from Death's grasp. He felt that this might be the only truly meaningful thing he could do for the poor boy.

Just as Silas was considering how to persuade Harry, a gentle, familiar voice sounded from the doorway of the empty classroom.

"This is unwise, Harry."

Albus Dumbledore stood there at some unknown moment. Moonlight streamed through the high windows onto his silver-white beard and hair. His eyes were full of understanding and pity, but his tone carried an unquestionable warning.

"This mirror," Dumbledore said as he slowly approached, his gaze sweeping over it, "can neither give us knowledge nor tell us the truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they saw, even driven mad, because they did not know whether what was in the mirror was real or could ever come to pass."

He looked kindly at Harry. "Dwelling on unreal dreams while forgetting real life is of no use at all. Remember that, Harry. Remember it well."

With that, Dumbledore gave his wand a gentle wave. The Mirror of Erised began to blur, as though shrouded in mist, then slowly sank into the floor along with its magnificent frame and vanished.

"This mirror has other uses," Dumbledore said.

Harry lowered his head dejectedly and wiped away his tears.

Silas, however, was not surprised by Dumbledore's appearance. He was more curious about something else. He walked over to Dumbledore, tilted his head, and asked in a probing, slightly sly tone:

"Professor Dumbledore, what about you? What can you see in that mirror?"

Dumbledore turned his head. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes gleamed with wise, gentle light. He smiled faintly and answered in his distinctive, somewhat mysterious manner:

"Me? I see myself holding a pair of thick woolen socks. Every Christmas, people give me many books, but few ever think to give me a pair of socks."

His answer sounded simple, even somewhat humorous, but the deeper meaning it contained—a longing for warmth and ordinary care—was worth pondering.

Silas blinked, seeming not entirely convinced by the answer, but he did not press further. As if he had suddenly remembered something, he rummaged through the pocket of his wizard's robe, which seemed capable of holding countless things, and actually pulled out a brand-new pair of deep purple woolen socks that looked exceptionally soft and comfortable.

He handed the socks to Dumbledore, a sincere smile appearing on his face.

"Professor, Merry Christmas."

Dumbledore looked at the socks Silas was offering and paused. Then an even warmer, more genuine smile bloomed on his face. He accepted them, gently stroking the soft wool, and a flash of true emotion passed through his eyes.

"Thank you, child. This is the most... practical gift I have received this year," he said gently. "Now, it is getting late. You should both return and rest."

Silas nodded, took the despondent Harry by the hand, and left the empty classroom.

Dumbledore remained where he was, holding the pair of woolen socks as he watched the two boys depart. His eyes were full of complicated emotions, especially as he looked at Silas's light brown hair, which appeared especially soft beneath the moonlight. This child always did things that were unexpected yet perfectly appropriate. What he had given was not merely a pair of socks, but something more like silent understanding and care.

As for Silas, he quietly made a note to himself. Woolen socks... Old Bee's wish really is simple enough. Still, next time, I could consider giving him a tin of Sherbet Lemon.