I really cannot figure out how Aberforth managed to get in touch with his son after so many years apart and possibly believing his son was dead, if he was even aware he became a father. Fine, maybe Aberforth is a stronger wizard than Grindelwald gave him credit for in 1899, but how did he learn about Credence?

Father

The Hog's Head was full of its usual cliental of hooded and cloaked wixen. The hushed tones of secret conversation. The barkeep cleaned his glasses. The fire would keep going in the hearth for a bit and his customers preferred it dim.

Halloween. Samhain. Later he would light a candle in the window for his departed sister. Perhaps she deserved one too, the other ghost in his life, and their maybe-child. It was an impossibility even back then. Her father would never have approved of him. They were both young and foolish, too trusting, too naïve. Children. He had accused his brother of falling too hard and too fast, yet he had done the same.

There were three of them who came to Dowager Malfoy's summer manor in Godric's Hollow that summer – sisters, though one could have been forgiven for thinking otherwise. The eldest was ice personified, all sharp features and white-blond hair. She wore men's garments, stylishly cut, enough to cause gossip even among the wixen. The twins were another matter. They were pretty witches with dark ringlets and sparkling eyes, like as two peas in a pod. They even dressed alike in the same garments. It would be upon getting to know them better that he learned to tell them apart.

Apollonia and Artemisia, named for the sun and the moon. On hindsight, their elder sister Alex guarded them with the ferocity of a lioness her cubs. One wizard claimed the eldest sister would sooner draw her wand on one than allow anyone to approach her sisters. When faced with Muggles, there was always that sword-cane she carried.

It started because of a goat. A silly nanny goat butted her way free of the barn and trotted over to the dowager's garden to feast on the flowers. He went after her and found the twin sisters cooing and petting the pesky runaway. Alex challenged him when she arrived to find him in the garden with her sisters. They traded a few jinxes before Alex cast a Jelly-legs Jinx on him, which Polly undid. He got his goat back, with an invitation to tea from the twins. If it weren't for the goat, he would never have gone to the sisters', not with Ariana needing him at home.

Alex duelled him each time he showed up. He found he needed that outlet for all his frustrations with Albus running off to goodness knew where with that German boy. Polly would often have to demand her sister stop. Misty would just hide away when the spells really start flying. On hindsight, perhaps Misty was secretly a squib. Polly was like her namesake the sun, all brightness and light. She just drew him in. She had been sent to the countryside to recover from a bout of ill health, away from their father because all that dark magic back home made it worse. The Rosiers turned out dark wizards too, although he could not tell, not at first. He guessed when Alex's duels progressed to include more dangerous hexes well above what a teenaged boy would reasonably be able to defend from. Durmstrang duelling, Polly had sniffed.

When not duelling him, Alex would find fault with him over her teacup. His dressing, his bearing, his family… perhaps one reason why he hated that German boy was because he had the same snobbish aura as Alex Rosier. He took to tending the goats just before going over to the sisters', just to annoy Polly's self-appointed chaperone. Alex hated the smell. Misty abetted them in her own way. Alex would be called away to deal with a boggart or some other creature she found in their aunt's summer manor or the gardens, leaving him and Polly alone. He was flattered a fine young lady like Polly enjoyed his company. Friendship quickly blossomed to love.

He tried to keep his visits brief, not trusting Albus to care for Ariana in his absence, but time just seemed to slip away when he was with Polly. Kisses stolen while their chaperone was hunting an imaginary boggart in the attic, dreams about a future – marriage, children… Polly was most insistent that any son of theirs not be named after his father Percival, but be saddled with the name Aurelius, for her needed more golden light to chase away the shadows.

Alex grew slack in her watchfulness by the time summer ended. After Ariana's funeral, Albus just took off without a word. Polly turned up at his door alone…

Looking back, it was folly, bordering on suicidal. Alex had the courtesy to spare his life when he tried to ask for Polly's hand in marriage and get thrown out by her irate sire. Had Alex meant to spare him even? Between the blood loss and the river, he had almost died. Afterwards, the sisters just vanished. Aberforth touched the scar on his throat under his collar.

"Of course it will be a son!" Polly had insisted over tea and scones that afternoon in the lazy sunshine. "A little boy with dark hair and eyes… I only wish…" Her eyes took on a faraway look before a cawing crow broke the spell.

There were rumours in Paris that one of the twins was with child. That explained Lord Rosier's foul temper. It might have led to the upheaval in the French wizarding elite that followed.

Did you have a child, Polly? My child? Where are you now? Lord Rosier had been adamant he would never allow his daughter to bear the child of a penniless halfblood goatherd.

He could not possibly ask Albus for help, not then, not now.

A little boy. If things had gone differently, would Polly be by his side? A little boy taking after her in looks growing up under his roof? He would watch his son's first step, hear his first word, beam with pride like any father when he managed his first burst of magic.

Would she have left him all the same once the dreary reality of his near-penniless existence caught up and romance wore off? Or would her ill health have caused her early demise? Leaving him to bring up their son alone? A sad boy wondering where his mother was, not yet understanding her death, or her reasons for leaving him behind. Perhaps he would grow into an angry teen like he turned out to be, at odds with the world around them.

Dare he even hope that his son would have magical power remotely close to Albus'? That he would be a golden boy and do his family proud as his uncle had done?

Another glass of whiskey to drown the ghosts. How many had he taken? The last customer had gone off for the night. Yet someone was entering his domain.

"Aberforth? You promised to meet… are you drunk?" Albus. It had slipped his mind. They were to discuss what to do about their old cottage in Godric's Hollow.

He met his brother's eyes before he could look away. Oh shite, he would have seen…

To his credit, Albus did not say a word, but sat next to him and summoned a glass of his own from the bar. He would talk only when he was ready, not before.

In his mind's eye, Aberforth imagined a shadowy youth wiping the glasses, helping his father shut up the bar after a long night's work. Perhaps a mirage, maybe there was never a child, or it might have even been a daughter.

"It was a boy, Aberforth."

Albus said tiredly as he downed his shot of whiskey.

Berk. Aberforth felt like punching him in the face but let it go.

Author's Notes:

A horribly angsty piece. The Dumbledore brothers are not the type who like to show their emotions. And on some level, Aberforth is still that angry teen inside. He grew up to be a grumpy old wizard, which suited him just fine in Harry Potter's time. Polly has a touch of foresight.