All seven years of Gryffindor House found the cleanest Common Room ever early the next morning. The tables were shiny and polished, and the crest on the wall had a bright new glaze of paint. Unfortunately, no one had the inclination to enjoy the sparkling room, because they found, upon entering the room, that the portrait hold was barricaded by hundreds of armed socks. Somehow, during the night, the socks charmed by Ninny had liberated all the socks in the tower. They clustered in the doorway, clutching fireplace tools, spare quills, and any other random pointy object that a sock could clutch and bludgeon with. One attractive argyle sported one of Ninny's elf hats, worn at a jaunty angle.

"Oy," said Ron. "What's going on here? I was wondering what happened to all my socks."

"The socks are... striking, I think," Harry replied. "That one over htere keeps trying to communicate, but socks don't..."

Ermione-hay interrupted. "Sockish. They speak Sockish. Does anyone here speak it?" They all blinked at her. "Honestly, people..."

Harry approached the thickest wool sock that appeared to be in charge. "I'm sorry," he said as politely as a person can when talking to footwear. "We don't speak Sockish. Could we send out for a translator?"

The sock gave a wiggle and Harry assumed that meant yes. A second year was sent to get help.

Everyone was waiting again in uneasy silence when screams of fear and pain broke out near the portrait hole. Seamus, having seen a hole in the ranks of socks (the author was tempted to put ranks of rankness but valiantly overcame the punny-ness in herself for the good of her readers), made a run for it. He claimed later he was light-headed from missing breakfast. The socks were jumping up and down on him, as well as aiming a few well placed kicks. Seamus was lucky they hadn't yet learned to manage the fireplace tools... Several Gryffs pulled him free and laid him on the plush couch. He moaned.

"Are you okay, mate?" Dean asked.

"I got lint in my mouth," he whined. "Tastes like feet."

"You are an idiot," the girl with bushy hair said.

Silence resumed as the students eyeballed the socks and the socks... well, they couldn't eyeball, so they, uh, stood there. Ron pointed out a limp, misshapen sock to Prefect Granger. "Ginny made those for me as her first knitting project."

"How darling," that one girl cupped her hands around the ugliest sock ever.

The sock flew up and punched her squarely in the nose, while its mate and several other socks kicked her as she ran across the room.

"You did that od purpose," she said thickly, holding her nose. "Hmph!"

"Honestly, how dumb can you be! It isn't my fault you do stupid things for a smart girl," Ron said, basically proving he'd be single for life.

"I dink I hate you," and Girl With Name refused to talk to Ron for several hours.