**A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update; school has been hectic, practices have been early (and exhausting), and I've had a rather bad case of writer's block. Without further ado, here's the next chapter of A&A! Hope you enjoy, and, as always, please review!**

Chapter Ten: History Revealed

Even though Rose had been right in saying that he most definitely did not want to talk to Aberforth (more out of self preservation than anything), Albus had to admit that she was also right in saying that he was their only hope for immediate answers. Despite the holidays being only about a month away, Albus doubted he could wait that long for a snippet of information about his namesake— that is assuming his father would give him any.

So the cousins set out for the portrait again, with the least amount of preparation yet, and not even bothering to Disillusion themselves (they were quite sure that they wouldn't come across Filch, having earlier dropped rather loud hints to Peeves that bubotuber pus would be a horrid thing to spray all over the seventh floor trophy room). Arianna wasn't there to greet them when the portrait had protruded from the wall, but Albus and Rose continued on—they would get answers tonight. The tunnel seemed shorter than usual, and in no time, both cousins had emerged into the grungy bar.

"I knew you would both be back. My brother said you seemed the curious type. I expect you have more questions." Aberforth's tired voice rose gently from his chair behind the bar. Albus noticed that piercing blue eyes had regained the glazed look they'd had when he first stumbled out of the tunnel. "I don't know if you'll get the answers you're looking for here," Aberforth continued, holding out his hand to give something to Albus. Albus opened his hand tentatively and allowed the old man to drop something into his palm—no, not just something, many somethings. Many tiny pieces of something… Albus knew what these pieces were part of; he recognized the glossy shards easily.

"The Resurrection Stone?" Albus asked, crestfallen. Aberforth nodded, his blue eyes staring blankly into space.

"My brother and I thought it would be best," Aberforth began, not looking up, "that no man should ever be tempted by the Hallows again. Especially not this one—it only brings more pain than good. Men who spend their lives looking for something that shouldn't be found often lose themselves on the way." Albus gaped, still reeling at the fact that he could never talk to the man he was named after. Or his Uncle Fred. Or what about the people he hadn't met? All the things he could have done with that stone!

"Well it's you we came to talk to anyway," Rose piped up. Albus jumped; he had forgotten she was there. That may be true for her, he thought, but I was counting on actually talking to Severus Snape himself. Aberforth, too, seemed surprised at this statement, and his blue eyes refocused, immediately intent on Rose, who was sitting somewhat in the shadows. Albus saw a chance to catch the old man off guard even further, and he expanded on Rose's words.

"We wanted to ask you about Severus Snape," he said strongly, staring down those blue eyes unblinkingly. Aberforth opened his mouth to speak, but Albus cut him off. "More specifically, we want to know how he died."

There was a long pause before Aberforth managed to reply. "He was killed by Voldemort," he said softly. "Or more specifically, Nagini."

"Nagini? What is that, like a person? Or a curse?" Albus questioned rapidly. Aberforth shook his head slowly.

"No. Nagini was a snake. Severus Snape died a slow and painful death." It became apparent that Aberforth had been expecting more of a reaction, but Albus already knew how the man had died—this was only for confirmation. The old man gave a quizzical look and stopped, clearly restraining himself from launching into another long monologue.

"But who exactly was he?" Albus prompted. There was no way he was going to let the man end there.

"Headmaster, Potions Master, double-agent for the Order of the Phoenix—he had many titles and lives to lead. All for a noble cause, mind you; this wasn't something he did for fun." Albus still wasn't satisfied, though he wasn't quite sure of the exact fact he wanted to know. Forming another somewhat general question in his mind, he tried again.

"But—" he hadn't gotten far before the old man cut him off.

"Perhaps it would be best if you saved the more morbid questions for your father. It was him who was there, not me," Aberforth stated seemingly uninterestedly, though Albus noticed that the glazed look was now entirely gone, and a familiar twinkle had appeared in those blue eyes. This was something that Aberforth seemed to know Albus would be surprised at, as he grinned at the open-mouthed boy.

His father had seen this? He had seen him die? Where would he have been in the dream, though? Wouldn't he have seen him? Questions fired rapidly inside his head, and though he longed to ask them to Aberforth, Albus feared the man's potential reaction to his dream—this mysterious connection could indeed prove dangerous. Albus then returned his attention back to the remnants of the stone in his hand. Noticing his gaze, the old man smiled sympathetically. "You will see them again, the people you talked to. It will most likely take a while, but you will see them." Albus nodded, though he hadn't been thinking about the people he had seen in the stone, but rather of ways to repair it. "Repairing it won't work either," Aberforth continued, as if reading his thoughts. "The only wand that would be powerful enough would be the elder wand, and its last known possessor was your father, who I am nearly sure disposed of it." Of course. He should have been prepared for that, but Albus could not stop his hopes from dipping further yet again.

"Al, have you seen the time?" Rose spoke up. Albus jumped again—how did he keep forgetting she was there? "We really should be going. Thank you for everything, Ab," she said, smiling kindly at the man with an air that was quite lighter than that of the conversation they had just had. The old man returned her smile and stood, holding the portrait open for them as they left.

"Oh and Albus," Aberforth said before shutting the portrait behind them, "I am truly sorry about my outburst. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's all right," Albus smiled at his friend. "I understand."

"Do you?" the old man grinned and sealed the portrait shut. Well what was that supposed to mean? He thought about asking Rose, but wondered if she would either think him dumb for not figuring it out on his own or not know herself, dragging him into a non-stop research frenzy and forcing him to rack his brains for any possible references Aberforth might have made. Both were outcomes Albus was sure he didn't want, so he kept his silence.

Though his mind still reeled from the conversation he'd just had, Albus was convinced of one thing: he wanted answers, and the sooner the better. But patience was necessary; the best chance of getting any information from his father would be in person, which meant waiting until the holidays. He was determined, though, to enjoy his last couple weeks of term—he would put this out of his mind until the timing was right. His only hope was that he would know when that was.