Emotion Prompt: Pessimistic

Characters: Aberforth Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall

Summary: Aberforth has very little faith in the resistance against the growing darkness. There is someone who differs.

The Hog's Head was as crowded as ever, which was to say, not at all. The place never really had many patrons, what with it so severely lacking in the warmth and hospitality that The Three Broomsticks offered only a street away. Aberforth Dumbledore stood at the bar, wiping a glass tumbler with his grimy rag, his face set in an eternal frown. There were only two customers in the pub — a warty old lady shuffling a pack of cards all by herself while nursing a bottle of firewhiskey, and a thin old man, who was just sitting there, doing nothing at all. The place was eerily quiet, with only the flap-flap-flick of the cards being shuffled and the muffled squeaks made by the rag being rubbed against the glass in Aberforth's hand being the only audible sounds.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open with a loud creak and gush of cold wind swept into the pub. The witch's card-shuffling faltered. The man twitched slightly. Aberforth paused his work and looked at the door.

Minerva McGonagall walked into the pub, tall and erect, and shutting the door, walked towards the bar. By mutual understanding, Aberforth put down his glass and leaned over the table.

"Take up a chair," he offered in his usual gruff tone. McGonagall gave a curt nod and dragged a chair to sit near him.

"They made Snape headmaster," she whispered in an anguished tone. "And... and the Carrows are in for teaching."

"That was only to be expected," Aberforth replied, pushing a glass of firewhiskey towards her. "Here, have this."

McGonagall nodded jerkily, and brought the glass to her lips. The lady who was usually stern as iron was evidently shaken.

"I can't believe that the same man who murdered Albus Dumbledore will now control the magical education of Britain. And Death Eaters in the school... unthinkable!" She shuddered. "What is the school coming to?"

"The whole country is coming to this, Minerva," Aberforth said grimly. "And if You Know Who gets his time, perhaps this will go abroad."

"Don't say that," McGonagall said in a rather harsh tone. "We will fight. We are fighting."

"Oh, yes?" Aberforth gave a bitter laugh. "And what chance we have of winning that fight, my dear Minerva? Haven't you noticed how much You Know Who has taken over things? The Minister is his puppet, the Ministry his toy. He is spreading terror all around, threatening, killing, controlling. He's even taken over Hogwarts now. The whole wizarding community is his now."

"What are you implying?" Minerva asked sharply. "Are you on the enemy's side or ours?"

"I am certainly not with the enemy," Aberforth's tone became even rougher. "All I am saying that only fools cling on to false hope."

Minerva flinched as if she were slapped. "Albus had planned—"

Aberforth's laugh was absolutely mirthless, harsh and cold. It seemed a mockery of the gesture that indicated people's joy and amusement.

"Albus! Albus! Of course Albus had planned everything, my genius brother. All that Albus had ever done in his life was plan, plan and scheme. And how many of them worked? How many of them helped?" His eyes strayed to the portrait of the young girl on the wall. "The greater good, my foot." He turned to McGonagall. "And where is he now, Minerva? Buried six feet deep inside a marble tomb. And what has he left behind? Nothing! A plan which no one knows about other than a boy who has his own life to worry about, a plan which I doubt anyone even understands! And I doubt that any good will come out of it."

The Transfiguration professor was glaring at the old barman. But Aberforth continued, looking a roughed up, angrier version of Albus Dumbledore.

"What is left to fight with? Your precious Albus is gone. The Order's finished. Most people are in hiding. Random men and women are dying every day. What is there to fight with?" His eyes went again to his sister's picture, and turned older and sadder. "What is there to fight for?" he added in an inaudible whisper.

"So you'd just accept things as they are?" McGonagall demanded. "Have you really lost all of it so that there's nothing for you to fight?" Her voice rose with every word, and the last word was accompanied by a loud crack of the glass hitting the table, at which the warty witch dropped two of her cards.

"I—" Aberforth began. But Minerva McGonagall's nostrils were flared; her eyes were flashing.

"I don't believe it. I refuse to believe it — that you are cowardly enough to really be that hopeless. Albus might have been right or wrong, but that doesn't change this — there's a war going out there, and we will need all of our strength and will to win it. All of us." With a deep breath, she mastered her anger. "I hope that you realise that soon." She pushed the glass away. "Thank you for the drink."

And with that, she strode out of the pub, the door creaking shut behind her.

Aberforth stared at the spot she had left for a long time. Then with a sigh and a shake of his head, he began to wipe a glass with his dirty dishcloth again, blackening its surface just as he kept blackening his thoughts. Once more, a profound silence fell in the Hog's Head.

-o0o-

A few months later —

Aberforth was alone in the Hog's Head, and his hand was moving on the mugs with the dishcloth in an automatic rhythm. Suddenly, a voice roused him.

"Well, I'll be damned! It's the Hog's Head!"

He turned around to the source of the voice, only to see two heads crammed in Ariana's portrait beside her smiling figure, head and shoulder. From the last time they had come to the pub (which was only once, two years ago), he knew them to be Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan. His bushy eyebrows rose in shock.

"Um, you —" the Longbottom boy began.

"Aberforth," he grunted.

"Yes, uh... Actually, we are in need of food. We are hiding from our teachers at Hogwarts, the Carrows that is. So I was wondering if you could help us..."

The thoughts and arguments that he had used all this time came back to him. What's there to fight for? This is a meaningless attempt. The Order is gone.

But here were these two, still standing against the tyranny, still rebelling. Without warning, the strong voice that he had heard a few months ago rushed upon him — 'There's a war going out there, and we will need all of our strength and will to win it. All of us.'

He looked straight at the two young men.

"Tell me what you need."