An old man walked around his hometown, looking at all the sights he had looked at all the years he lived there. Passing a stone bridge that had connected the small town to the major city a few miles away, he stopped and looked at it. The bridge was an important addition to the town. It had brought more money into it, gave the farmers a quicker way to get their stuff to market. And it had lasted for many decades.

"I helped them build that bridge. But do they call me the Bridge Builder? No!" the man said to no one, for no one was around to hear him. The man continued walking in a slow pace until his walk carried him to a farmhouse and he stopped again.

"I helped them build that house. I helped to build almost every house in this darn town," he said to himself, "but do they call me the House Builder? No!"

He sighed and continued on, large buckle boots crunching over the dirt path.

A bit father down he came upon a toy broomstick propped up against the fence.

"I taught the kids here how to play Quidditch. I referred their matches. But do they call me the Quidditch Coach? Do they even call me the Broom Guy? No!"

He sat down on the stump with another sigh. He rested his white bearded chin in his hands as he slumped over.

"I've lived in this town almost all my life. I helped build the bridge that changed this town for forever. But do they call me the Bridge Builder? No. I helped build most of the houses that are here. But do they call me the House Builder? No. I was the one that helped each of them accept when they found out their child was magical. I helped all of their children with spells and gave them Quidditch Tips. But do any of the people in this town remember any of that? No!" he cried out angrily.

He got up from the stump and stretched for a minute.

"You'd think that from all I've done for this town, they'd give me some credit," he mused out loud as he continued on his slow walk.

"They don't say anything about building bridges or houses, or helping their children when they see me. Nope. Its as if all that is forgotten over the time. You'd think that they'd be able to remember that," he continued, his blue cloak swishing above the ground.

He continued walking until he came to the schoolyard where all the little children were playing. The man stopped and leaned against the fence railing, watching the children playing.

"Their parents will never tell them all that I did for this town. They'll never know about all that." Some of the children had stopped playing and turned to stare at him for a minute before laughing to each other. One of them called something out to him and Aberforth left.

"But use one inappropriate charm on a goat."