Author's Note: Hi all! This fic covers Aberforth's thoughts on the day of his brother's burial. The title is inspired by Nicholas Hooper's piece named 'Dumbledore's Farewell' on the HBP soundtrack. Although there is one curse word, the fic's overall tame content means I'll keep this as a Kplus.
Obviously, the chracters are not mine.
It was time.
Aberforth made his way slowly towards his pick of seat towards the rear, apprehension eating at him. How would he react to the sight of the burial and the eulogy? To the sight of the prone form of his brother whose nose he'd permanently bent, and whom he'd never, ever be able to forgive for everything? How could he forget and forgive, after what Albus' maniac of a friend had done to their family?
Impatiently, he shrugged away the wetness in his eyes, and coughed gruffly, staring dourly at the sight of the former Minister who had walked towards his seat, eyes downcast and fidgeting all the way with his bowler hat. Another Ministry politician with fewer guts than a disemboweled toad. And speaking of toads….
Dolores Umbridge also made her way to the front row in close proximity to Minister Scrimgeour, dressed as per usual in a truly outrageous pink frock and with such a falsely saccharine look of dismay and pity that it made Aberforth clench his fists so hard all the colour drained out of them.
An eerie hush fell over the crowd as the unmistakable form of Hagrid appeared in the distance, clutching a purple-shrouded form that Aberforth knew was all that remained of his brother.
It really was all too tragic, he thought, as the sounds of the merpeople's melancholic lament reached him and made the silvery hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His brilliant, intelligent, bold brother. A man destined for greatness, but handicapped by the usual assortment of temptations. Greed, envy, and finally, of course fear. Fear in confronting the bastard that had ended his beloved sister's life not only by a curse, but through his utter capturing of Albus' time and affection. And not only his sister, either. How many more lives would have been saved if Albus had found it in him to stop Gellert Grindelwald sooner?
Then there was the utter farce that was the Severus Snape fiasco. A man that Aberforth knew from the moment he darkened the Hog's Head doorway was bad news. A man who had thought nothing of eavesdropping on his brother and a Seer, then immediately reporting the news to his vile boss, a baby's life be damned. Apparently, telling a simple sob story after the fact would resolve everything as far as his brother was concerned. He snorted to himself derisively. Albus and his all too damn complicated plans. The man was in love with them his whole life. And look where it had got him. The man whom his brother had trusted – somehow - and recruited as a spy for the Order, murdering him in cold blood. What a waste.
Aberforth peered out over the sea of heads that had congregated to say farewell – students, faculty, Hogsmeade residents, Order members, centaurs - and felt the pressure of unshed tears begin to build as Albus' ever-loyal gamekeeper finally laid him in position for the ceremony. Every now and then, he saw a sight that made him crack a small smile in spite of himself. The sight of Remus Lupin and that clumsy Auror girl for one. Just like with the Weasley parents, the darkest times really did have that unique power of bringing people together. If only that had rung true with the Dumbledore family. It had initially, with the family behaving as a single, cohesive, supportive network after his father's imprisonment. But then the death of his mother had driven a deep gulf between himself and his elder brother, only worsening over the following months.
As the tufty-haired wizard began his monotonous drone about his late brother's 'intellectual contribution,' 'greatness of heart' and some other waffly claptrap, Aberforth let his gaze drift away from the front towards the serene surface of the lake. It was a brilliant day, with scarcely a cloud in sight. Tranquilised by the sight of Hogwarts' beauty even on such a tragic day, his mind drifted back to the more innocent times of himself and Ariana. The times where both of them could just be themselves, reveling in the other's company. He, too, thought of the searing emotions that had accompanied Ariana's demise, of his inconsolable rage. How his satisfaction that the news of Grindelwald's defeat had brought him was tempered by the continuing antipathy towards his brother's reluctance to come to terms with what had to be done.
He also remembered the pregnant pauses as Albus would always hover in the doorway the moment he entered Aberforth's beloved bar. The lingering hesitation that always remained each time Albus entered the bar, even as both their beards became longer and greyer over the decades that followed. His elation that Voldemort had been defeated that Halloween night, marred by the news of the Potter's deaths and by his own brother's hesitancy in joining in the celebrations at the Hog's Head. The stiff politeness that had accompanied Albus' staying at the bar four years previously, and how his own heart had recoiled in horror when his brother had been sent a most terrible letter, informing him that a young girl had been abducted and taken into Slytherin's Chamber. How his brother had refused to keep up the eye contact once that horrible news had been sent to him.
He'd always assumed that Albus was free of his guilty burden the moment he'd defeated his old friend and locked him securely away in that ghastly Nurmengard prison. But had he misread his brother?
Part of him couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Albus after his murder. Aberforth knew about the Muggle beliefs in this field of interest. If there was an afterlife, had his brother seen and reunited with his beloved parents yet? And Ariana – would she ever find it within her to forgive him? Aberforth somehow knew innately, such was his sister's way, that she would. Such a sweet, innocent being, unfairly taken away….
He was jolted back to the present as people around him let out a shriek. Bright blue flames had consumed the shroud covering the hollow shell of his brother, and before long, all that remained was a solemn marble tomb lying on the spot.
It was over.
As the crowd of mourners gradually dissipated, Aberforth's attention was drawn to the sight of a young man with messy, jet-black hair just like his father's. Beside him were the Weasley boy and the bushy-haired brunette girl who he knew was the brains for the other two. That much had been clear during the time they and a group of their friends had formed their little defence club in his bar. As he sidestepped around and curtly nodded to the grief stricken Hagrid and his giant companion, Aberforth made his way towards the shore, his attention flicking between the ripples caused by the departure of the merpeople, and what the Potter boy was up to. So young to be carrying such a burden. And speaking of burdens….
He turned back once more to see Harry and the Weasley girl deep in conversation. Both their faces were heavily lined, and he heard a snatch of the girl's defiant rebuttal of "What if I don't care?"
Aberforth could literally have the brains of a goat and be able to put two and two together. This was intruding on an intimate, private moment, and no-one needed an eavesdropper during such a time. Least of all Harry Potter.
As he moved away to give the pair of them the privacy they so richly deserved, Aberforth reflected on the boy's plight. Didn't he realise that it was a dead end to go it alone? Especially on some stupidly noble purpose like the Greater Good? What glory was there in becoming a sacrificial lamb, leaving behind everyone who ever loved him? If his brother had prepared him for this mission that people were always gossiping about, and if the boy was determined to see it through, then he'd better bloody well have prepared himself exhaustively for taking Voldemort down.
His anger was well and truly sparked, however, by the entrance of a pugnacious Ministry official, who arrived beside his quarry as soon as the Weasley girl had left to commiserate with her brother and the Granger girl.
The crowd had thinned, and so Aberforth was once again able to hear snatches of conversation between the Potter boy and Rufus Scrimgeour. He saw both of them getting redder in the face, and finally heard the Minister's angry accusation, followed by the boy's defiant "Dumbledore's man through and through. That's right." If only the boy had any inkling of Albus Dumbledore's tragic past that he shared with his siblings…..
With a final, miserable sigh and shrug of the shoulders, Aberforth turned his back on the tomb and set off for home.
As the shadows grew and the stars one by one came out, Aberforth let out a sigh. He'd shut the bar, partially because he'd decided he wanted to be left alone for the afternoon. But the ghosts of years gone by, particularly those of his late brother, kept returning.
To hell with his previous decision.
The warmth of the Three Broomsticks hit him like an overwhelming tsunami. Yes, many had blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, but at least the atmosphere was mutually supportive. Aberforth made his way over to where the far younger and far more attractive Madam Rosmerta was serving the latest arrivals.
"Good gracious!" she gasped, as Aberforth made his way up to the counter. "Aberforth! I'm so sorry about what happened….are you all right?"
Stupid question, Aberforth thought. Still, the young barmaid meant well. He examined her face intensely, noticing her nervous lip bite, the way her eyes refused to make contact with his. "The question is…are you?" He'd heard from Minerva McGonagall that Draco Malfoy had Imperiused Rosmerta as part of the plot to kill Albus, and no doubt she'd been traumatized by the knowledge that, however unwillingly, she'd assisted in getting the Headmaster killed.
She nodded nervously, and he decided to clear the air.
"Listen," he said softly. "None of us blame you for what happened. A Death Eater used you to carry out his filthy work." She nodded slowly and let out a sigh as she handed him a steaming Butterbeer. Nodding his thanks and giving her a clap on the shoulder, Aberforth chose a spot beside Horace Slughorn, who promptly reassured him nervously that he was just getting some brief 'fresh air' before returning to the Castle.
Aberforth didn't say much as the evening wore on, but his reverie was promptly ended by Madam Rosmerta's magically-enhanced voice calling for everyone's attention.
"To Albus Dumbledore," she declared firmly, a tear slipping down her cheek. As everyone chugged their drinks with a hearty roar of assent, Aberforth stood up on an impulse. He nodded to the patrons, young and old, locals and new arrivals paying their respects to his brother, and to Rosmerta, who was looking at him quizzically. The faces of multiple people flashed by him. His parents. Ariana. All the members of the Order, many of whom had become casualties of war. Of Harry Potter and his loyal companions. Of all the members of the Hogwarts faculty who had passed through its doors. A hush fell over the bar as Aberforth swallowed nervously, then raised his glass to the heavens.
"To all the people my brother's life touched," he declared firmly.