Albus and Aberforth

Chapter One: Meeting

He awoke with a start, sweating and gasping for air. He was alone in his dormitory—it can't have been later than midnight—but this was the earliest the dream had come. Always the same dream: a man dressed in black robes stood talking to a man just out of sight; a snake would appear and attack the man, leaving him bleeding on the floor. But it would always end there. If he hurried down to the common room, he might be able to confide in his brother—James always had encouraging words for him and was enthralled by the strange and bloody dreams. Throwing back the hangings around his bed, he rushed down the stone staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. Relief washed over him as he saw that his brother was indeed up, though surrounded by a group of his friends.

"James!" he cried, anxious to recount his dream. His brother glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but otherwise gave no indication he was there. "James!" he shouted again, "I had the dream again!"

"I'm sorry, guys, my brother still has those awful nightmares and is too immature to handle them on his own," James said smugly to his group of friends as he rose from their midst. "What's wrong little Albus?" His mocking tone pierced Albus's anticipation—his brother was laughing at him! His only rock (for he had few real friends) was mocking him openly! Tears welled in Albus's bright green eyes and he ran through the portrait and into the corridor. "Al, come back! I was only teasing!" James's shouts echoed in the empty hallway, but Albus kept running. "ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER!" James cried, trying to gain his brother's attention, but he had already rounded the corner and was showing no sign of returning.

I need to get away—I have to get away from James, he thought furiously. Almost as soon as he thought it, a large frame began to force itself out of the wall ahead of him, growing more focused and pronounced until he could clearly see a young girl slightly older than he was. She glanced around in her frame, and, with a wry smile, began to beckon to him. Albus approached the painting with caution, wondering why it chose to appear now and remain hidden all the rest of the time. As he drew nearer, though, the painting swung forward to reveal a dark passageway, startling Albus so that he nearly fell backward. Despite his initial shock, curiosity won over him, and he crawled into the passage.

The passage was nearing its end; he could feel the ground leveling slightly and the passage becoming wider until he could see the outline of the frame once more. Have I gone in a circle? He queried. Pushing on the frame in front of him, he tumbled out onto the floor of an old and dirty pub.

"I have long wondered when another student would come through that passage," said an ancient man sitting in a chair beside the painting. His hair was long and dirty, as though it were once a purer shade of white; his piercing blue eyes stared blankly in front of him, not bothering to look at the student splayed out on the floor. Albus frantically struggled to his feet and brushed the dirt off him, surprised to meet another soul at the end of the passage.

"Where am I?" he wondered aloud. The blue eyes refocused and met his own.

"Astonishingly like your father, you are, with your untidy hair and eyes like his—yes, I'd know you were a Potter anywhere. Tell me: what brings you to the Hog's Head?" The old man had spoken with the appearance of having not moved his lips at all.

Albus frantically muttered something about a dream and escaping his brother. The man continued to study him, his eyes seemingly searching for an answer better than the one he had given.

"Tell me boy, what is your name?"

"A-A-Albus," he stuttered, as the man's piercing glare transformed quickly to a look of shock and pain, his eyes hardening as though against an enemy. "B-But you can call me Al," he finished nervously. The old man's eyes softened considerably.

"I should have known your father would name one of you after my brother. It seems only fitting that he should," the old man said calmly. Then, after a pause, "They had quite a friendship, you know, your father and Albus Dumbledore. I sometimes wonder if Harry knew him better than I did. He seemed to think he did, when we had first met, and I can only wonder if he was right."

At this Albus stopped trying to study the man's face and, dragging a grubby chair from a nearby table, sat down as though about to listen to a story. Seeing this, the old man went on. "As you know, your father was famous from an early age for surviving an attack by the darkest wizard of his time. He became the 'Boy Who Lived,' even if he was too young to know. My brother had always been drawn to powerful wizards, so naturally, when your father came to Hogwarts, he was drawn to him. At least, that's what I had chalked their friendship up to—my brother and his powerful friends. I knew he would be careful not to show his hand too early though, and sure enough, my brother watched the boy through members of the staff, always making sure he was protected. When the time came, Albus trusted that he had left your father the tools he needed to succeed. As we know today, he had.

"But there was a time when Harry seriously doubted Albus—just as I had doubted Albus." At this last statement, the old man's eyes welled with tears, and Al began to look around nervously for anything that might console him. Nevertheless, the man trudged on. "I know he had never wanted to hurt her. I know that's why he had protected your father with such vigilance, hoping that it might make up for what he thought he'd done—"

Albus interrupted. "Do you mean the girl in the picture?" he said quietly, almost a whisper so not to upset the man any more, "Who was she?"

At this, the old man pulled from his pocket a glossy page, as though torn from a book, with a large picture of a seemingly happy family. He handed this to Albus, who studied the picture intently. A caption below it read, The Dumbledore Family: Percival, holding daughter Arianna; sons Albus and Aberforth; and wife Kendra.Albus slowly began to glean the identities of the two most interesting people he had possibly ever met, and spoke softly to the man again.

"The girl in the portrait is your sister, Arianna. And you're Aberforth?"

The man nodded slowly before replying. "After what your father told me, with my brother falling to his knees in a potion-induced trance and begging for her, Arianna, to be spared, I knew I had been wrong. Essentially, I had known all along that he would never have aimed to kill in a duel between his best friend, his brother and himself, just as I never would have. I had always known, but it was easier, somehow, blaming him."

Albus looked stunned. He had barely understood any of what Aberforth had just said, knowing full well that Aberforth had left out major details. Aberforth seemed to pick up on this blank look, and with as much delicacy as could be spared, said, "But who am I? Expecting the troubles of an old man to be understood by a child? It is late, and you should surely be in bed, no?" Albus nodded glumly, trudged back over to the frame, and crawled inside.

At the other side of the portrait, Albus crawled out of the passage as soundlessly as possible, closing the frame carefully behind him. He slowly began the journey back to Gryffindor Tower, carefully peering around each corner before entering the corridor ahead. Then, feeling something brush against his leg, Albus began to panic. Looking down, he first saw a pair of huge, lamp-like eyes staring back. He then saw what the eyes belonged to: the ancient and ever brooding Mrs. Norris, the cat who answered only to Filch, the equally ancient caretaker. Remembering his father's stories of how wherever Mrs. Norris went, Filch would follow closely behind, Albus broke into a run, praying that old age would hinder Filch and give him time to reach the Fat Lady before being caught. He rounded the next corner—perhaps he would make it after all! A menacing voice broke through the darkness and Albus skidded to a halt.

"And where do yeh think yer goin'? Outta bed, runnin' amuck in the castle," growled Argus Filch.