Aberforth Dumbledore

He would close up early tonight, Aberforth decided as he wiped down the bar. It was only a quarter past ten, but the pub was empty and he was feeling particularly tired. Not much point keeping the doors open if it was going to be a quiet night. Besides, the Hogwarts students had already offered him more patronage today than his usual afternoon. Even if they never did order anything with a particularly good mark-up, some thirty butterbeers in one go was not a bad haul for the day; it would more than account for any losses from closing a few hours early.

His regulars would understand. They knew him well. They knew he kept his own hours. If they showed up and he was closed, they were always welcome to go down the street to the Three Broomsticks for a hoity-toity over-priced glass of chardonnay or whatever nonsense Rosmerta was pushing these days. Nah, Aberforth could do whatever he damn well pleased, and if they didn't like it, they could go elsewhere. Aberforth Dumbledore answered to no one. He was proud of his place in life. It was how he liked it. He didn't need more. He depended on no one and no one depended on him.

This had not always been the case, of course. There had once been a time when someone had depended on him. But that time was long since passed. It had been some ninety years since she had gone. Ninety years since she had left him behind. She needed no one where she was now. He was at peace with it. At least that's what he told himself.

Aberforth waved his wand at the dishes in the sink to wash them. Then he turned to replace the clean tankards to their place on the shelf behind the bar. 'Clean' was a relative term. He'd never been particularly good at these householdy spells. But once again. If his patrons didn't like it, they were more than welcome to get their mead in a sparkling clean glass from Madam Rosmerta at three times the cost. Why should he care?

The bell on the door jingled and a gust of cool autumn air blustered across the room, bringing with it a few dead leaves from the street which Aberforth already knew he had no intention of sweeping up.

"We're closed," Aberforth called, not looking over from his work.

"I apologise. I didn't realise you were closing early today. But perhaps you might make an exception? Just for a small glass of mead? And one for yourself, of course."

Aberforth's hands stilled at the sound of the voice, but still he did not look around immediately. He didn't need to, after all. He had been expecting him. Had known he would come since the second he had looked up and seen Harry Potter there ordering a round of butterbeers with his friends. He had known then and there that his brother would be paying him a visit soon. How daft Aberforth was to have not just locked the door before Albus had had the chance to come.

"Something tells me you're not here for the mead and the atmosphere," Aberforth said, disgruntledly pulling down two of the tankards he'd just put away and slamming them down on the counter with a little more force than was probably necessary. Albus knew his mood well without him needing to resort to such theatrics, after all. Finally he looked up and met his brother's eye. "Something tells me you're here about your golden boy stirring up a revolution." He unstoppered a bottle of mead, the squeak and pop deliberately enunciating his words. Aberforth stared hard into his brother's eyes for a moment, then finally broke his gaze to pour a generous quantity of mead into his own glass. And a rather smaller quantity into the one he then held out to Albus.

Albus smiled knowingly as he approached the bar and took it. Whether that knowing smile was in response to the words he had said or to the shy pour of mead that would hopefully encourage him to leave sooner, Aberforth was uncertain. "You noted him then?" observed Albus mildly. "And what did you make of him?" Albus surreptitiously wiped the rim of the glass with a handkerchief before taking a sip. Aberforth set about restoppering the mead and pretended not to notice.

"I make him to be a right fool who's gonna get himself killed." Aberforth took a good gulp from his own glass as he turned back to study his brother. "But I also reckon you know that. I reckon you've been training him up to be a right fool who's gonna get himself killed."

Few people on this earth could read the expressions in Albus Dumbledore's face. The great Albus Dumbledore was a master at hiding his emotions. As children, they had learned secrets and deceit at their mother's knee, and Albus had always been a natural. But he was Aberforth's brother. They had grown up together. And for a moment, only a moment, Aberforth saw a stab of pain behind that bloody annoying eye twinkle. His words had found their mark. Good.

Aberforth took a moment to watch his brother and relish in the pain. They excelled at causing each other pain. They had decades upon decades of practice.

"So which was yours?" Aberforth asked, casually when Albus did not rise to his bait. Albus raised an eyebrow, inviting him to explain rather than questioning. This only served to increase Aberforth's annoyance. "Which was your spy? You wouldn't let the boy wander around without keeping an eye on him. Can't think that you'd have the likes of Willy Widdershin's in your pocket. The blokes from Yorkshire meet here on the regular, so unless you're keeping an eye on me too… Suppose that leaves the veiled witch? If she even was a witch, mind; had my doubts when I heard her voice as she ordered."

Albus smiled mildly. "Mundungus Fletcher has his talents."

"Ah. Thought I recognised his posture."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Albus took a sip of his mead, not breaking the eye-contact. The silence stretched again.

"He took a big step today," Albus said after a bit.

Aberforth decided to play dumb. He was not interested in getting dragged into this drama. "Mundungus?"

Albus spared him a knowing smile before clarifying, "Harry." He paused, looking around the pub. A small twinge of embarrassment at the dirtiness tugged in the back of Aberforth's brain. He shoved it aside angrily. He liked it this way, damn it, and who gave a damn what Albus thought anyway? "I feel this may be a turning point. Even if it was small. He's striking out on his own."

"Not so sure about that," Aberforth replied sceptically. "Think I don't know anything about what happens in that school of yours? People talk, you know. Sounds like striking out on his own is something of a pattern for him. A bloody stupid pattern, mind."

"Perhaps," replied Albus thoughtfully. He turned to study his tankard, swirling the mead around inside, the honey-coloured liquid refracting the lights of the low-burning candles. "And I have encouraged his independent streak in the past. It will be safer for him not to rely on others too heavily. But in the past, he has at least tried to seek the advice of adults before making his own move, even if he was not successful in garnering their assistance. This feels… different. He's taking charge for himself. And seeing that people will follow him. He's becoming a leader."

"They're gonna follow him dead if he doesn't wise up. Not the brightest is he? Thinking that he could have a meeting with thirty people here in broad daylight, and it would go unnoticed?"

Albus smiled again and he looked up to Aberforth. His eyes were twinkling again. Damn, but he always hated that look. "Well, he is fifteen. And not particularly well acquainted with subterfuge. But I have no doubt he'll learn." Albus's tone was irritatingly casual, and Aberforth did not miss that he chose to ignore the comment about the boy and everyone following him ending up dead. A classic example of why his brother irritated him so much. Without more than a 'hrumph' in explanation, Aberforth turned away and passed through the door behind the bar.

He heard the stairs behind him creaking as Albus followed him to the upper level. He knew Albus would follow. He had not said what he had come here to say yet, after all. Aberforth wanted him to follow. Because he knew Albus was uncomfortable up in his private rooms. And his brother needed to be put in places in which he was uncomfortable from time to time. It was good for him.

The staircase opened into Aberforth's private sitting room. Aberforth crossed the threadbare carpet to position himself by the fire. He leaned casually against the mantel as he turned to look back toward his brother. It was very deliberate. If Albus wanted to look at him, he would find himself looking at her too.

But as Albus emerged from the stairs, he lingered near the door. His eyes roved the room looking determinedly any direction but toward the fireplace. It made Aberforth want to fire off another blow.

"It bothers you, doesn't it? Potter striking out on his own?"

Albus did not immediately answer. He crossed quietly to the window and pulled back dusty drapes to look out at the dark Hogsmeade street. Aberforth could see his reflection in the glass. And abruptly he realised how terribly tired and troubled his brother looked.

"It worries me that he may move too fast. He may find himself in difficulty he is not yet equipped to deal with."

"Or perhaps it bothers you that he might move out from under your thumb. That he might not go along with the great schemes you undoubtedly have planned for him."

Aberforth thought he saw a flinch in the reflection of his brother's face. But when he at last turned to look at him, Albus's expression was blank. He looked at Aberforth as though patiently inviting him to continue. Well fine then. Don't mind if I do.

"What do you want with a fifteen-year-old who is 'not particularly well acquainted with subterfuge' but whom people will follow? What are you planning? Who is he to you? Another pawn in your chessboard?

He paused— made sure to let those last words sit in silence for a moment. Let them sink in a little further. Sting a little deeper.

But still Albus just looked back at him with his face infuriatingly blank.

After a long moment, Aberforth continued, his voice deadly quiet. "I know what your grand plans are like. I know how quick you are to throw an innocent to the chimeras. How quick you are to see them as dispensable. How quick you are to make sacrifices for the greater good."

The quiet stretched again. Then, to Aberforth's profound annoyance, Albus laughed softly.

"He really is quite a remarkable boy," Albus said. There was wonder and fondness in his voice. "You met him for the first time mere hours ago. Can't have exchanged more than a few words with him. And yet already I see how protective you are of him."

Aberforth stared at his brother incredulously. And he was fuming. It took him a moment to get the words out through the rage. "This is it. This right here. This is why you and I will never see eye-to-eye, Albus. Because for all your smarts, sometimes you can't see what's right in front of your nose. Because if you did, you'd know we weren't talking about Harry Potter."

And they stared at each other. Blue eyes looking into blue eyes. One of the only things they shared. For in every other way, Aberforth never saw anything of himself in his elder brother. Sometimes he thought there was no way they could be related.

Then, very slowly, almost as though it was physically painful to do so, Albus's eyes lifted ever so slightly and drifted over Aberforth's left shoulder. Drifted up to look at the portrait of their little sister over the mantel. He studied her for a moment in silence. Aberforth did not turn around, but he was sure Ariana would be smiling sweetly down at him like she always did. She knew nothing of blame or hatred. Aberforth envied her that.

When Albus spoke, his voice was soft and halting. Aberforth could not remember ever hearing him like this. "I have no desire to repeat the mistakes of my youth. I loved her, you know. And I love Harry. But I'm not here to prove that to you."

"Why are you here then? If Mundungus already reported to you all that Potter and his friends are plotting, and you're not interested in my opinion... Why bother coming? Pretty sure the great Albus Dumbledore has far more important affairs on his schedule than a visit with his little brother. Not like we ever enjoyed each other's company, anyway. So why pretend?"

For another long minute, Albus just looked up at Ariana. Aberforth had never seen him look at her so long. He glanced over his shoulder toward her and sure enough, she was smiling down at her eldest brother with her usual vacant innocence. Then, Albus swallowed, and pulled his gaze away. He still held his empty tankard in his hands, his long fingers curled around it, and he studied it as though something terribly interesting was left in the bottom.

"More and more, I feel certain there will come a day when I will not be here to keep an eye on him. There will come a day when I will not be here when he needs me." These words hung in the air. Aberforth was annoyed at the way they made his gut clench. The thought of a world where his brother was not there frightened him more than he wished it did.

After a long moment, Albus looked up from his tankard at last to meet Aberforth's gaze. "I trust you, Aberforth. You were always the more admirable between us, you know? I hope that, when the time comes… should Harry come to you… should he require your assistance… I hope you will be there to offer it if I cannot."

Aberforth considered this quietly for a moment. "And what if my assistance doesn't support your schemes? What if my assistance is geared toward saving a child's life rather than fighting a losing battle?"

Albus smiled at him. And Aberforth thought he saw real affection in the gaze. "I think, perhaps, I'm counting on this being the case. You and Harry would get on well together, I think. You would balance each other quite nicely."

Albus was contemplative for a moment. Aberforth merely watched him silently and Albus watched him back. "I often think you and I might have balanced each other well too. But I have long since missed my opportunity for that. Had I not been too proud and foolish to have seen it, we could have got on well together. It is perhaps my greatest regret in a long life full of regrets that I did not see your worth until after I had already damaged our relationship so irreparably."

Aberforth found he did not know how to respond to this. What worth could he, Aberforth, possibly have ever offered to the great Albus Dumbledore?

Albus gave him a knowing smile as he wondered at the meaning of this comment. But he did not elaborate. He merely said, his tone abruptly much lighter, "I have kept you from your bed too long. And the House-elves have a nice cup of hot cocoa awaiting me at the castle. I do not require an answer from you tonight. I will take my leave. Goodnight, Aberforth."

Aberforth stayed where he was by the fire for quite some time, contemplating their conversation.

It was a good long while after Albus had left that Aberforth realised he had never paid for the mead. Git.