Seasonal Snogging: Chapter Six: A Man Called Donkey.
Aberforth's plan is still very much intact, but since I re-wrote the last chapter, it seems it's Minerva and Albus who are running the show now. Where will they take us? Your guess is as good as mine…
This chapter is dedicated to Sior, in return for an honour bestowed.
Aberforth Dumbledore gazed into his mirror, bending his elongated ears backwards and forwards philosophically. Perhaps it had been the angle at which the hex had hit him, but he was quite certain that Albus's intention had originally been to curse him with goat's ears, rather than with the donkey ones he currently displayed. He reasoned that his brother had been considerably distracted at the moment of casting the spell, and was confident that the mistake was the result of a troubled and aching heart. Albus, after all, did not usually make mistakes. At least not with spells.
Aberforth credited himself with being a crucial factor in the making of Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard of the modern age and master of spell-casting. It was he, after all, on whom his brother had honed his skills. There wasn't a curse in existence that Albus hadn't flung at him at some point or other in their childhood. Aberforth had suffered every imaginable hex, potion, human transfiguration and charm that could be applied to an unruly sibling intent on pilfering one's chocolate supply. He had endured so many unfortunate spells at the hand of his brother that the Healer's at St Mungo's used him as a permanent case study. It was not commonly known, but Aberforth had also been instrumental in his brother's work on the uses of dragon's blood, and was to this day still suffering the side-effects of use number four. So he knew well that it was a greatly agitated Albus Dumbledore that had gifted him with donkey ears instead of goats'.
It was extremely unusual for the spell to last this long, however. Albus, at the insistence of their long-suffering mother, usually made sure that the spells he inflicted on Aberforth were only temporary. Any time he was found to have used a permanent spell, he was ordered down to the Laughing Warlock Pub, where Mrs Higweed the landlady kept a beautifully preserved ducking stool for the purposes of punishing naughty local boys. It was only when she discovered that her young boys had grown particularly fond of playing the "how long can you hold your breath before you drown" game that Mrs Dumbledore realised that this specific form of punishment was no longer appropriate for her older son, and resorted instead to the confiscation of his books.
There was no hope of confiscating Albus's books now, of course, if this curse proved to be permanent. As much as Aberforth Dumbledore possessed a sense of fun, he was unwilling to spend Christmas day in the company of his fiancée and his big ears. It was one or the other, and he knew which one he preferred. Reluctant as he was to break in on what he supposed would by now be the accomplishment of his cunning plan, he determined to floo Albus immediately and ask him to reverse the hex. Certain that his ruse to help Minerva would have come into effect by now, but equally sure of his brother's gallantry, he threw the floo powder into the fire and said "Albus Dumbledore's bedroom", certain that he would disturb no one but the headmaster.
He put his head into the fire and found himself looking out into the empty bedroom, where there was no sign of Albus.
"Well, well! Perhaps he's not the gentleman I thought he was!" He said to himself, withdrawing from the fire. "I'll just take a peek to be sure…"
To do Aberforth justice, his intentions were not dishonourable. He merely intended to look into Minerva's sitting room fire to check for canoodling school teachers or possibly the odd discarded robe.
What he found was not what he had been expecting at all.
Albus Dumbledore remained where we left him, reader, at the end of the last chapter: face down on Minerva's carpet. Minerva was nowhere to be seen.
Aberforth looked in on him from the fire with raised eyebrows and a considerable waggling of (overlarge) ears.
"She won't be happy when she sees what a mess you've made of the carpet, old chap!" He cried. No answer was forthcoming. Concerned in equal measure for Minerva's carpet as well as the welfare of his brother, he stepped out of the fire and into the room.
Albus Dumbledore had lain on the floor of the sitting room for almost two hours by the time Aberforth came unwittingly to his rescue. Never a man to be idle under any circumstances, he had passed the hours by attempting to release himself using wand-less magic, while at the same time contemplating Minerva's reaction should he choose to ban the serving of Haggis at Hogmanay this year. The idea of the latter had consumed him with such glee that he had almost forgotten his attempt to break the curse when Aberforth tumbled out of the fireplace.
His younger brother quickly un-petrified him, and he was at last able to free his bloodied nose from the vice that was his head and the floor.
"Ouch!" he cried out as he got to his feet.
"Blimey, Albus!" Aberforth exclaimed. "What happened? Did Minerva thump you before she petrified you?"
"Only metaphorically speaking." said Albus in a sulky voice.
"What on earth do you mean?"
"By kissing you instead of me!"
"But I thought…Albus, what on earth did you do to her to make her petrify you?"
"Do to her? Absolutely nothing! I am perfectly innocent! All I did was come in here and ask to be kissed properly and she laughed at me, suggested I try elsewhere and then knocked me to the floor so fast I didn't even have time to say quidditch! Marvellous bit of witchcraft, actually, now I think about it." he added with a small smile. "What's wrong with your ears?"
Aberforth, who had forgotten about his ears altogether, was looking puzzled.
"Never mind them. What exactly did you say to Minerva?"
"You're not supposed to have donkey ears! I aimed a goat curse at you. Why have you got donkey ears?"
"What did you say to Minerva?"
"Donkey ears. I don't understand. How could I have possibly got that mixed up with the goat curse…"
Aberforth sighed and led his still muttering brother towards the door, cleaning up the mess on Minerva's carpet with a quick swish of his wand.
"Honestly, Albus." He said as he closed the door behind them. "You really need to get your priorities sorted."
The title for this one comes from the Richard Harris film "A Man Called Horse". I thought, if the man who plays Dumbledore is Horse, then Aberforth can be a Donkey! I like to think he would appreciate the joke…