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Save for the light clacking of his knitting needles, Dumbledore’s office had been mostly silent for the past three hours. A splendid day off, it had been, and one he considered himself deserving of. Professor McGonagall would surely have the rest of the school taken care of. And, besides, it wasn’t terribly often that he found the time to knit. The pattern he was currently working on was almost finished – just a little more around the rim and perhaps a dash or two of white to accent its ruffles and that would be it. He could use his wand to change the colour, but the craftsmanship itself absolutely must remain true and without magical interference.
Dumbledore paused, glancing out of the window. The sky was like wax, a perfectly imperfect marbling of reds and pinks and oranges. And, in a narrow band skirting the horizon, the icy blue of a cold summer’s twilight steadily approached. The Quidditch stadium lay still down there, though he could just make out a number of students marching towards the castle, the colour of their robes obscured by the elongated shadows of the spectator stands.
Dumbledore’s subject cleared their throat.
Drawing out of his reverie, Dumbledore continued with his knitting. None of the students would ever see the bandages tied around his fingers. Albus Dumbledore was far too great a wizard to be seen having suffered such silly injuries from as low an art form as knitting. Or, rather, that’s how Severus Snape had worded it.
“Oh, how I am loathe to ever again accept an offer of tea in your office, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore glanced over his half-moon spectacles at his subject: glaring at him was the tall, thin frame of Severus Snape, clad only in a ghastly pastel pink knitted leotard.
“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore chided lightly. “One can never hope to overcome the Dark Arts if one never attempts to overcome their own insecurities.”
He tied off the tutu and picked up his wand from the desk in front of him. Then, with a flourish, he sent his new creation to tie itself around Snape’s waist.
Yes, he thought to himself, Severus Snape was indeed a Pretty Princess.