Socks

Silas stood before the ornate and mysterious Mirror of Erised, his heart beating a little faster with anticipation and a trace of barely perceptible nervousness. He gazed at the smooth mirror surface, waiting for the image to change, waiting to glimpse the deepest desires of his heart.

The image in the mirror began to ripple like water, reforming...

A few seconds later, the image stabilized.

Silas stared at the scene in the mirror, completely stunned. He blinked, leaned closer, as if unable to believe what he was seeing.

In the mirror, there was no grand spectacle, no immense power, no lost loved ones.

What was reflected was an extremely ordinary, even… supremely lazy scene:

The "Silas" in the mirror, clad in incredibly comfortable and soft silk pajamas, lay on a huge four-poster bed that looked super soft, covered with thick down comforters and fluffy pillows. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, and a contented smile even graced his lips. He slept incredibly soundly, incredibly deeply. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, gently falling upon him. The room was so quiet that only his even breaths could be heard. The entire scene exuded ultimate peace, comfort, and… idleness.

Silas looked at the version of himself in the mirror, sleeping soundly and detached from the world, and his mouth twitched. After a long moment, he managed to squeeze a speechless syllable from his throat:

"Uh..."

This was so far from any possibility he had imagined! Where was the power? The mysteries? The sense of belonging? How did it turn into sleeping?!

Harry, standing nearby, leaned over curiously. He also looked into the mirror, but the reflection was still the happy image of him with his parents. He turned his head, looking at Silas's indescribable expression, and couldn't help but ask, "Silas, what did you see?"

Silas snapped out of his shock and speechlessness. He pointed at the sleeping version of himself in the mirror and, in a tone mixed with absurdity, self-deprecation, yet inexplicably with a sense of enlightenment as if he had seen through the mundane world, solemnly announced to Harry:

"See? This is my life's ultimate pursuit—a peaceful sleep, undisturbed, waking up naturally."

No burden of saving the world, no tediousness of studying magic, no troubles of scheming and plotting, not even needing to think about what to eat for lunch. It was the simplest, purest, most extreme form of rest and relaxation. Perhaps, for Silas, who possessed memories of two busy lives and knew that the future might be full of trouble, such a carefree peace was his subconscious's most extravagant, yet most real, desire.

Harry looked at Silas, who had an expression of "So I'm this unpromising" on his face, and opened his mouth, unsure how to respond.

Silas, however, suddenly laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, it seems my ideal is just this simple, unadorned, and boring. That's it, I've seen enough, let's go."

He glanced once more at the peacefully sleeping version of himself in the mirror. The Mirror of Erised might not reflect the greatest dream, but it certainly reflected the truest Silas. "Potter, shall we go?"

Harry gazed wistfully at the smiling faces of his parents in the Mirror of Erised. He shook his head vigorously, his voice choked with emotion yet firm. "I'm not going! Silas, I want to see them more! It's so hard for me to see them..."

Silas watched Harry immerse himself in this illusory happiness, sighing inwardly. A thought quietly surfaced: (Internal monologue: Looks like I need to find a way to get my hands on the Time Stone sooner... Even if I can't change the past, at least I have to try and see if I can use time magic to pull Potter's parents back from the clutches of death?) He felt this might be the only truly meaningful thing he could do for this poor child.

Just as Silas was contemplating how to persuade Harry, a gentle and familiar voice echoed from the doorway of the empty classroom:

"That is not wise, Harry."

Albus Dumbledore stood there, having appeared at some unknown time. Moonlight spilled onto his silver-white beard and hair through the tall windows. His eyes were filled with understanding and pity, but his tone carried an undeniable admonition.

"This mirror," Dumbledore said, walking closer slowly, his gaze sweeping over the Mirror of Erised, "can neither give us knowledge nor tell us the truth. People waste their days before it, becoming obsessed with what they see, or even driven to madness, because they do not know whether everything in the mirror is real, or whether it can be achieved."

He looked kindly at Harry. "To dwell on false dreams and forget the realities of life is utterly useless. Remember this, Harry, remember it well."

With that, Dumbledore gently waved his wand. The Mirror of Erised began to blur, as if shrouded in mist, and then, along with its ornate frame, it slowly sank into the ground and disappeared.

"This mirror has other uses," Dumbledore said.

Harry lowered his head in disappointment, wiping away his tears.

Silas, however, was not surprised by Dumbledore's appearance. He was more curious about another question. He walked up to Dumbledore, tilted his head, and asked in a tone of inquiry and slyness:

"Professor Dumbledore, what about you? What do you see in this mirror?"

Dumbledore turned his head. The blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles twinkled with wisdom and gentle light. He smiled slightly and replied in his characteristic, somewhat mysterious tone:

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

His answer sounded simple, even a bit humorous, but the profound meaning contained within—the longing for warmth, for ordinary care—was thought-provoking.

Silas blinked, seemingly not entirely convinced by the answer, but he didn't press further. As if suddenly remembering something, he reached into the pocket of his mage robe, which seemed capable of holding many things, and actually pulled out a brand new, very soft and comfortable-looking pair of deep purple woolen socks.

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

"Professor, Merry Christmas."

Dumbledore looked at the socks Silas offered, paused for a moment, and then a warmer, more genuine smile bloomed on his face. He took the socks, gently stroked the soft wool, and a flicker of true emotion crossed his eyes.

"Thank you, child. This is the most... practical gift I've received this year," he said gently. "Now, it's getting late, you two should go back and rest."

Silas nodded, pulling a crestfallen Harry, and left the empty classroom.

Dumbledore stood in place, holding the pair of woolen socks, watching the two boys' retreating figures. Especially Silas's light brown hair, which looked exceptionally soft in the moonlight, his eyes were filled with complex emotions. This child always managed to do things that were unexpected yet perfectly fitting. He wasn't just giving a pair of socks, but rather a silent understanding and care.

And Silas, in his heart, silently noted: Woolen socks... Old Bee's wish is truly simple. But, next time, I can consider giving him a jar of Sherbet Lemon.