Springfic: "Scenes from the Hog’s Head Inn" (1/2) for fugacious_love
Title: Scenes from the Hog’s Head Inn (1/2)
Author: wotcher_wombat
Recipient: fugacious_love
Character(s): Aberforth Dumbledore, Sirius Black
Rating: PG
Warnings (highlight to view): a bar brawl, a wee bit of language
Wordcount: 11,341 words
Summary: Aberforth wondered if he’d ever had a handle on Sirius Black. Had he ever seen the boy, or merely the shadows of things he’d wanted to see?
Author's Notes: I tried to incorporate a little bit of everything from my prompt. I hope you enjoy it!
Betas: Many thanks to Lisa and Debbie for the beta. All mistakes and Americanisms are my own.
If there’s an art to bartending, surely Aberforth Dumbledore never learned it. He poured and refilled as necessary, but he would never whip up any fantastic concoctions of bright colors and whimsy. He never stayed up at night worrying how to make the place a better business. His Inn would never invite friendly, open conversation the way Rosmerta’s did. However, despite this lack of skill, dedication, and welcome, the Hog’s Head had become something of an institution under his helm. His clientele ranged from the dodgiest sort of villains to any number of average folk wanting to be left alone. Most were content to take their liquor in silence, and perhaps it was the gruff indifference of the owner which set the tone. There was nothing in Aberforth’s manner that would encourage any customers to confide in him.
There were always exceptions, of course.
Young Gilderoy Lockhart had once rhapsodized for hours about how he would make something of himself one day, flashing a debonair smile to the room at large. Aberforth surmised that anyone smart enough to see through the smarmy façade would see that the boy hadn’t one iota of talent. Years later, when Lockhart’s books became unprecedented best-sellers, Aberforth lost a little more patience with the world.
Judith Thickey had given him an earful on the worthlessness of all men after her husband faked a Lethifold attack just to run off with another woman. She swore up and down that she would never go within five hundred feet of the other woman’s tavern, the Green Dragon, and would happily travel miles out of her way to frequent the Hog’s Head from now on. Aberforth quickly recommended the sympathetic ear of Madam Rosmerta, and when that didn’t work he mentioned his own machinations to escape a shrill harpy in his youth. Judith Thickey abruptly stomped to the door and never returned.
Albus occasionally stopped by, using his strange humor as a shield. His light manner concealed his aggravation and sense of duty to everyone but Aberforth. These meetings were always awkward, but Aberforth had neither the knack for social graces nor the desire to let Albus off the hook. His brother deserved occasional discomfort.
There was a terrible scene when Brent Bones came in fresh from the slaughter of his family. He drank himself sick, and babbled incoherently about the sight of his baby sister’s broken body heaped on the floor, his mother screaming from the other room, the house in flames all around them. Aberforth let him talk, took him to a room upstairs when he could no longer sit up, let him stay the night and most of the next day, and never charged him a Knut.
He’d seen a parade of wizards in witches come through the Hog’s Head over the years, and every once in a while there was a misguided soul looking to befriend him. Though hardly an enjoyable aspect to his profession, it was inevitable. Aberforth built something of a tolerance for this occasional annoyance.
But dealing with Sirius Black was another matter altogether.
***
Looking back, Aberforth realized he should have expected it. It was the second Hogsmeade weekend for the kids up at the school, and having explored the small village in their first visit, some younger kids would be turning up on his doorstep in a foolish attempt to prove their bravado to one another. However, when Sirius Black swaggered into the Hog’s Head on that cold day in 1974, Aberforth raised his grizzled eyebrows in surprise.
Sirius waved to the other customers and made his way to the bar, acting like a prince among commoners, oblivious to the dark mutters from the usual customers. In contrast, little Regulus Black shuffled along behind him, scrutinizing his surroundings with wide, nervous eyes. With a tug on Sirius’s sleeve, he whispered something in his brother’s ear.
“Nonsense!” Sirius shouted in response. “Why wouldn’t we be welcome here? We should be honored guests!”
Regulus paled, his expression mortified as he mumbled again to his brother.
Sirius merely cackled. Several patrons turned to glower at the boys, but it only served to widen Sirius’s smile. “That’s exactly why you need me to show you around, little brother. Come on!” He pulled his brother through the hostile room. They sat directly before Aberforth with their legs dangling from the barstools.
“Two Butterbeers, please.” Sirius leaned against the counter, shaking his hair out of his face with a graceful nonchalance.
Aberforth tried to discourage him with his glare. “I don’t carry Butterbeer.”
“Well, you should,” Sirius replied, clearly undaunted. He turned to his companion. “What do you reckon, Reg? Firewhisky, then?”
Regulus shook his head. His eyes watched his brother in admiration, even as he writhed in embarrassment. “We should just go back to the Three Broomsticks-”
“Don’t be a twat,” Sirius scolded. “Here you are with the chance to hang out with me. You should be thrilled. I’ll bet none of your pathetic little Slyther-friends would have the guts to go anywhere interesting like this.” Sirius shoved his brother’s shoulder causing Regulus to slip from his barstool. “And then!” Sirius continued with a laugh. “Then you get to go back to school telling everybody about your fantastic adventure-instant glamour! Admit it, my plan is flawless.”
Regulus ducked his head as he tried to climb back on the barstool. “I didn’t come here to tell tales-I-I just thought you were going to show me the village.”
“Relax, Reg. My way is much, much better.” Sirius smirked at the patrons in the room and gave a brassy wink to Aberforth. “You get to do it in style.”
Ah. Sirius was trying to be cool, looking to impress all those around him with his wit and brilliance. Aberforth knew a little something about that tendency, and it wasn’t pretty. He had no patience for anyone valuing their own intelligence over family-he had Albus for that. He set down the bottle in his hands with a loud clang. “Get out of here. Both of you. Now.”
“Oi! What have we done?” Sirius protested.
Aberforth glowered. “I don’t have time for your lip, boy.”
“I think we’ve gotten off to a wrong start,” he tried again, his voice dripping in charm. “My name is Sirius Black.” The boy held out his hand in a friendly gesture.
Aberforth stared at it, and continued wiping the counter with his dirty rag.
“See, I told you we should go,” Regulus mumbled.
“Have a spine for once, Reg,” Sirius barked, his charming manner broken in frustration. “Do something that’s even a little bit exciting-shock me.”
“I just don’t see the need to fight against… everything,” Regulus replied.
Sirius was about to argue, but Aberforth interrupted him. “No one’s going to fight in here. I told you two-out. And take your problems with you.” Aberforth threw down his rag. He’d thrown countless people out his business over the years, but somehow Aberforth couldn’t bring himself to physically expel the boys from the bar. Instead he gave them his most intimidating look.
“Come now, that’s no way to treat a paying customer.” Sirius slid a Galleon across the counter and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Aberforth huffed in frustration. “Listen here. I don’t care who your family is-I don’t care about your problems-and I won’t be bought with a measly Galleon. Get out of my sight.”
Inexplicably, Sirius Black smiled at this. “I don’t care about the family name either. I’m not like the rest of them-I’m a Gryffindor!”
“Hey!” Regulus protested, looking struck. “There’s nothing wrong with our family. Don’t say that like it’s something shameful.”
Sirius snorted and turned away. “Isn’t it, though?”
At that moment they heard another, smaller voice issue from Sirius’s pocket. “Hey, where are you? Are you there?” Sirius pulled out a small enchanted mirror that Aberforth had seen once before, and Regulus grimaced.
“Yeah, I’m in the Hog’s Head,” Sirius whispered to the mirror.
“The Hog’s Head? Brilliant! I’m right there,” the voice replied, and not a minute later, another young boy strutted up to the bar. Aberforth watched with dwindling patience. Was his establishment about to become the hangout of all the Hogwarts set?
“So, this is the Hog’s Head. I always thought it would be… more exciting,” said James Potter with a shrug when he reached Sirius’s side. “It’s not dangerous at all.”
“Really?” Sirius asked. “I think it’s great! The bartender’s already threatened to throw us out-haven’t you?”
“Who’s threatening? I want you out,” Aberforth grumbled idly.
James Potter laughed easily and leaned closer to Sirius. “Listen, maybe we should go.” He shot a furtive look at Regulus. “I think I’ve found something that might interest you over at a certain haunted house. I thought, if you’re done with the peanut gallery, you and I might check it out.”
Sirius looked out the window towards the Shrieking Shack hungrily. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds-” He looked back to his brother and squared his shoulders. “Hey, Reg, you can meet up with some of your friends, right? James and me-we’re going to take off.”
“Finally,” muttered Aberforth.
Regulus frowned, his eyes guarded. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why should you mind? All you’ve done is complain all day,” Sirius protested. “Really, it’s not a big deal. Don’t be a baby about it, okay?”
“Right. Why should I expect you to keep your word?” said Regulus. He crossed his arms and scowled. “You always do this-you’re such a-a blood traitor!”
Aberforth turned to the younger Black with interest at the insult.
“What?” Sirius chuckled in bewilderment. “The Potters aren’t even-Oh!” His laugh turned menacing. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was talking to Mum.”
Regulus flushed in anger, but didn’t respond.
After a moment, Sirius softened his stance and sighed. “Listen, this is nothing to get upset over. I’ll see you again later tonight-it’s not the end of the world. All right?”
“Yeah. Right,” Regulus said distantly. “Just go.”
Sirius gave his brother a strained smile. “I’ll see you later, then?”
He couldn’t be sure, but Aberforth felt something else hanging unspoken in the air, something final, something somber. He busied himself clearing glasses from the counter.
“Later. Yeah.” Regulus shrugged and slid his hands in his pockets.
With a smirk, Sirius threw his arm around James Potter and the pair bounded out the door of the Inn, shouting some tomfoolery that sounded like, “Marauders away!”
In their wake, Regulus let his face fall into a look of hurt, his shoulders sagging.
He looked so crushed that Aberforth considered telling him to buck up. His brother would come around after the world knocked him around a bit-and if he didn’t, then he wasn’t worth the effort. Aberforth knew; he had personal experience with estranged brothers. Surely fate had something in store to humble Sirius Black.
Before Aberforth could find the right words to encourage him, though, Regulus turned away. He squared his shoulders and walked out the door of the Inn, pointedly looking away from the direction Sirius had taken.
***
The roar of the engine approached the Hog’s Head long before the motorcycle came into view. By winter of 1979, the deafening sound of Sirius Black on his flying bike was so common to the villagers of Hogsmeade that they hardly turned to look at the oddly bewitched Muggle contraption as it glided to a stop outside the Inn. A moment later Sirius burst in through the door, his leather jacket ripped, his t-shirt bloodied, reckless energy rolling from him in waves. This, too, was not unusual.
Aberforth only took notice of the boy a split second before chaos erupted. His eyes dark and ferocious, Sirius rushed to the corner of the pub and without even drawing his wand he launched himself at a patron in a dark cloak.
It only took another second before people started to scream and a cacophony of sound enveloped the pub. Patrons started fleeing out the door while a crowd of hooded figures surrounded the fight. They were indistinguishable inside their black cloaks, aside from the sound of their voices which jeered loudly as they brandished their wands against Sirius.
“Where is he? What have you done, you filth?” Sirius roared amidst the din.
“Oi-think this one’s a bit upset!” laughed a voice in the mob.
Ropes materialized from thin air and tired to bind Sirius, but he tore his way loose and attacked wildly, screaming, “Tell me where he is-or I’ll rip you limb from limb-I swear I’ll-”
“Because ickle Reggie meant so much to you, did he?” came the taunting, nasal voice of Marcus Avery. “Cared so much that you turned your back on him?”
“Where’s my brother?” demanded Sirius. “Tell me!”
“Going soft-wasn’t he?” said a deep, menacing voice. “He learned the hard way-you can’t turn your back on the Dark Lord! The mark is for life!”
The sounds of bones crunching were unnaturally loud as Sirius pummeled one of the men-Midas Mulciber, by the sound of his screams.
Aberforth remembered that sound too vividly. He knew the empty satisfaction that came with it. The fight wouldn’t do anything to save Regulus, just as breaking Albus’s nose had done nothing to save Ariana. Still, it felt damn good.
Deeming it necessary, Aberforth let the fight continue for the moment.
Sirius bellowed in fury as a blue spell broke across his back. He collapsed to his knees and struggled to stand while the crowd continued to ridicule him.
“He deserved what he got!” shouted Avery. “You’ll get worse!”
They attacked with wordless incantations, and Sirius gasped at each blow. His face swelled to horrific proportions, ghastly bruises appearing across his skin in accelerated sensitivity. Under some unknowable spell, Sirius staggered to his feet, coughing blood, his eyes watering in pain.
This was starting to get out of hand. “Everybody needs to calm down. Now!” Aberforth declared, his voice lost amidst the violence and shouting.
“I’ll-I’ll kill you-I swear, I’ll kill you all!” Sirius rasped, a dangerous look in his eyes. “I’ll make you sorry-”
“We’d still die with more dignity than Regulus,” someone hissed.
At these words, Sirius sprung into motion, assaulting everyone around him in a blind rage. He unleashed a brutality that Aberforth had never seen in an unarmed fighter.
“Enough of this child’s play,” said a soft voice. “Crucio!”
Immediately, Sirius dropped to the floor shrieking and writing in agony. The crowd laughed and cheered around him. The moment seemed to drag on unnaturally, and Aberforth felt a cold, sick feeling sinking into his stomach.
“Expelliarmus!” called Aberforth in a ringing voice. He reached out and caught a bundle of wands as they flew to him from the hands of the hooded men. Everyone in the Inn turned to look at Aberforth, and Sirius’s panting for breath seemed to boom in the silence.
“Think very carefully about what you’re doing, old man,” threatened one of the hooded men. “You’d hate to make an enemy of us. Give our wands back.”
Aberforth shook his head. “Your threats won’t work on me. You need me at the Hog’s Head-because I’m the only one who will turn a blind eye to your dealings. I don’t care what else you do, but there will be no Unforgivables used in my Inn. Do you understand me?” He threw open the door and hurled the wands out into the street. “Now, if you want your wands, go and get them!”
Once the hooded mob had gone, only Sirius and Aberforth were left inside the Hog’s Head. The still emptiness seemed shocking after such a vicious scene, and for a moment the two could only look at each other and blink.
“Let me get you a bandage,” Aberforth muttered as he walked back to the bar. He started pulling spare cloths out onto the counter, but each one seemed dirtier than the last.
“S’alright,” Sirius sighed, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Doesn’t hurt.” He leaned against a bar stool.
Aberforth nodded. “Right.”
Their voices sounded flat and perfunctory in the quiet. Aberforth understood that.
“I won’t get him back,” Sirius confessed.
Aberforth held the silence a beat too long before he replied, “I suppose not.”
***
To Aberforth’s immense disappointment, Sirius Black did not limit his cheerful pontificating to the Hogs Head Inn. In the spring of 1978, Sirius and a handful of his peers all on the cusp of finishing Hogwarts joined the Order of the Phoenix with great bombast. Aberforth sat at the back of the room at the meeting with his arms crossed over his chest, certain that this starry-eyed crop of kids was his brother’s biggest mistake yet.
“And see, we just ironed them on-and it stays on the t-shirt,” Sirius explained, holding up the phoenix-emblazoned garment with pride. “The Muggles are just brilliant at stuff like this-and they did it all without a transference spell!”
“We made enough for everyone,” James Potter added, tossing shirts out to the group. The redheaded girl beside James rolled her eyes.
Alastor Moody scoffed. “What part of secret organization is too much for you two to grasp? You want to risk our safety with a juvenile stunt like this?”
“Lighten up, Mad-Eye,” Sirius teased. “It’s for morale!”
Moody huffed in frustration, but at the front of the room Albus merely laughed.
“I am sure your enthusiasm will be infectious,” said Albus. “And now that we’ve welcomed our newest members, I have one last point of business before we dismiss. It’s sort of a homework assignment, if you will.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be done with homework?” laughed Sirius. James punched his shoulder appreciatively.
Albus gave another indulgent smile. “Yes, as hard as it must be for our newcomers, this is important to our work. The Order will face many trials in the coming years, and it is important that we always have a safe and secure way to contact one another. I have devised a charm to solve the problem. Allow me to demonstrate.”
He raised his arm and wordlessly summoned his Patronus. A shimmering white phoenix flew once around the room before returning to the front. Then, it opened its beak and spoke in Albus’s voice, “We can communicate by Patronus.”
An awed murmur went around the room, and Albus’s eyes twinkled with pride. “No one can replicate another’s Patronus, so we can always trust any messages delivered this way. A Patronus can travel great distances in a matter of moments, and one only needs a wand to send word. I can think of no safer or more convenient way to communicate. So, I am asking you all to practice your Patronus Charms. The next time we meet, I shall teach you all how to make your Patronuses speak.”
Everyone seemed excited as the meeting adjourned. James Potter and the girl everyone would one day know as Lily Potter quickly made friends with the other Order members. The new recruits with their boisterous humor were instantly popular. They joked and charmed their way through the crowd until a large group decided to head for the pub together. Their laughter echoed in the stairway as they left headquarters.
In contrast to these high spirits, Aberforth felt nothing but frustration. His face fell into lines of vexation, and he made no effort to hide it. He’d never learned how to produce a Patronus. Naturally, this was the charm his brother would deem vital for everyone to know. His mood wasn’t improved when Sirius Black sidled up his seat.
“Don’t you want to go off with the rest of them?” he griped.
Sirius ignored him and threw his arm around the back of Aberforth’s chair. “So, Ab… All this time you were in a secret organization-fighting evil and saving the world right from behind the bar at the Hog’s Head! It’s brilliant! Why did you never tell me about your secret double life?”
Aberforth knocked the boy’s arm off the chair. “Why would I tell you anything?”
“Because I’m friendly, and delightful, and magnanimous,” Sirius smirked. “Also because you need me.”
“Need you?” Aberforth scoffed. “Hardly.”
“For someone who leads a double life, you need to work on your poker face,” Sirius laughed. “Dumbledore-that is, Albus-said something that’s displeased you. What’s going on?”
“Mind your own business.” Aberforth crossed his arms.
As ever, Sirius remained undaunted. “You don’t like your brother very much, do you?”
“You’re a fast study.” Aberforth rolled his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and muttered to himself, “Not everyone thinks the world revolves around Albus. Not everyone cares about fancy spells-much less demands them.”
“Demands them?” Sirius turned to him with interest. “Are you saying you can’t cast a Patronus?”
Aberforth flushed in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He looked away, refusing to answer.
“Hmm. I think we can fix that. How about this,” Sirius offered. “I’ll help you with the Patronus Charm, and I won’t say a word about it to anyone. In return, I’d like some free drinks at the Hog’s Head. What do you say?”
What other choice did he have? Despite his many misgivings, Aberforth agreed. By their seventh practice, Aberforth’s frustration had turned to hostility.
“I think I’m going to get a motorcycle, you know.” Sirius casually leaned against the bar of the Hog’s Head and watched as Aberforth struggled.
“Shut it,” Aberforth grunted, uninterested in the boy’s exploits. He raised his wand and tried again. “Expecto Patronum!”
An undefined silver mist came from his wand and dissipated in a matter of seconds.
“You don’t understand,” the boy babbled. “I’ve wanted one since I first took Muggle studies. I picked up a manual for one-I used to read it every night before I went to bed. This is a big deal. I’m really going to get one-and I’m going to make it fly.”
“I don’t see how this matters,” Aberforth snapped.
“It matters because the thought of my own motorcycle makes me incredibly happy. I’m practically walking on air when I think about it. But I can’t make a Patronus with it.” Sirius shuffled forward and raised his wand. “As amazing as a motorcycle is, it doesn’t go deep enough. My best Patronuses? They come from moments I’ve shared with my mates. Making Peter laugh, giving Remus a moment of glory, getting into trouble with James-that’s what works.”
Eyes closed in concentration, the boy murmured the incantation as a massive bear-like dog sprung from the tip of his wand. Sirius opened his eyes to watch it gambol around the room, and a gentle smile lit up his face. When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “My friends are the reason I get up in the morning. They’re why I keep fighting. To me, it makes sense that these are the memories that will protect me.”
Aberforth shifted uncomfortably. “I’m supposed to think of my friends, then?”
“I don’t know,” Sirius said. “That’s what works for me. I just think that maybe you need to look for something more important-something very personal. That might help you make a stronger Patronus.”
While Aberforth had to admit the boy had a point, part of him was terrified to think of anything so personal. When had he last been truly, completely, unabashedly happy? It had been years since he let himself remember. It seemed his memories all carried the taint of guilt and horror. He doubted he would ever produce a corporal Patronus.
“Just try it,” Sirius encouraged. “You might be surprised.”
Against his better judgment, Aberforth allowed himself to think back. He recalled the sound of childish laughter, the feel of warm sunlight stretching across his skin, an earthy smell of goats in the pasture. Ariana smiled at him in her dreamy sort of way-the image was so clear it caused Aberforth to tremble. He couldn’t allow himself to think of what came after. He struggled to stay in the moment, though tragedy threatened to bleed into every facet of the scene.
Beneath it all was the image of his sister lying dead on the floor, her face frozen in a look of mild surprise.
Giving his head a violent shake, he forced himself to think. One moment-just one second-that was all he needed.
He held Ariana’s hand forward. She trusted him completely and didn’t pull away. Together they offered food to the goats, and she shrieked with laughter as their tongues lapped over her hand. He remembered the look of joy that passed over his sister’s face, every exact detail filling him with long-forgotten emotions. It was a perfect moment in an imperfect world.
His words were almost a plea. “Expecto Patronum.”
Again a silver mist sprung from his wand, but this time it quickly formed into a large, defined shape. It charged across the room, and for a moment, the Hog’s Head seemed brighter. Aberforth didn’t have to look to know it would be a goat.
“Yes!” Sirius cheered. “You did it!”
“I saw.” Aberforth fought to keep his voice even. He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. His breath came in gasps. “I saw that.”
“It looked great.” Sirius smiled and clapped his hand on Aberforth’s shoulder.
Aberforth had to sit down. “We’re done for tonight.”
Nodding sagely, the boy gathered his things and left the Inn, leaving Aberforth to his thoughts. That night he dreamed of Ariana, remembering the rare sound of her laughter. The memory still cut through his heart, but for the first time in decades, Aberforth considered that it might not be a bad thing.
The next week he commissioned an artist to paint a portrait of his Ariana.
***
Tossing some change to the owl, Aberforth retrieved his rolled up newspaper and set out a plate of food for his brother. Albus had promised to come over for breakfast today; whether he honored this meeting or rushed off to some important crisis or another was yet to be seen. The owl eyed the meal hopefully, but Aberforth shooed it away with a vicious swat. He tore off a piece of bread and settled to read the paper while he waited.
He expected to headline to be full of self-congratulating nonsense about the abrupt defeat of the You-Know-Who a scant two days ago. He expected more hero-worshipping of the infant boy at the center of the mystery. He expected more pictures of the Potters’ crumbling cottage. He expected articles about the tactical genius of the Ministry that lead to victory.
What faced him instead was a picture of Sirius Black laughing wildly under the headline, “MASS MURDERER SENT TO AZKABAN.”
He blinked, looked at the picture again, and then proceeded to devour the article.
“Have you read this?” Aberforth asked as soon as Albus stepped inside the door. He shoved his copy of the Daily Prophet under his brother’s crooked nose. Though his body seethed in anger, Aberforth held himself in check.
“Here I thought you didn’t read,” Albus quipped with a bland smile. “Perhaps your interest in the written word has sprouted after all?”
Aberforth grumbled. It was one thing to read the sort of high-minded conceptual rubbish his brother cherished. Reading the news and keeping tabs on real problems and threats was another matter altogether. He jabbed the paper with his finger. “Right here. Front page. Gigantic bloody picture. Sirius Black.”
Albus sighed. “Yes, I’ve read it. May I sit down?”
Aberforth stepped back and surveyed his brother’s detached expression as they sat down at the table. “So that’s it, then,” he said after a moment’s silence. “You’re not going to do anything for him. You’re letting him go off the Azkaban without even a trial.” He waited, but when Albus made no reply, he threw his hands up in the air. “And here I thought you’d taken a stand against Crouch’s tactics. I thought you were making a case for compassion.”
“Not this time.” Albus’s face turned to a grimace. “I believe Sirius Black is beyond the limits of even my compassion.”
“I know all about your limits,” Aberforth said darkly. “And I suppose it doesn’t matter to you that Crouch can get his way-that he can cart the next nutter off to Azkaban without the bother of a trial. I’m glad you made it so much easier for him.”
Albus hung his head and chuckled wryly. “As ever, you see straight through to my hypocrisy. I must say something for the next trial, you’re right. However, if Barty Crouch sends Black to Azkaban, I will not contest it.”
“So, he’s become ‘Black’ now, has he?”
With a curious glace at his brother, Albus folded his hands together. “I thought you of all people would be telling me to cut my losses-to distance myself from a mass murderer as quickly as I could.”
Aberforth startled. Backing away from any connection with Sirius Black was the practical thing to do, of course. It ought to be second nature for Aberforth by now; he’d made a life for himself by keeping his head down and his mouth shut. He wondered why that instinct felt so wrong now. He looked away from Albus and shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake off his unease.
Sirius Black laughed hysterically from the front page of the newspaper.
“It just doesn’t set right with me,” Aberforth muttered. “Look at him. He’s mad. He’s broken. No one’s even trying to find out why.” He thought of the absurd pride Sirius took in his Muggle motorbike, the Muggle clothes he flaunted in the face of his pureblood peers, the Muggle music he sang when pissed. Aberforth couldn’t reconcile this with the raving man in the paper who’d killed twelve Muggles.
He couldn’t imagine any version of Sirius Black who would murder a friend.
“We know why,” said Albus. His voice was light, but he kept his hands busy by meticulously spreading jam on his toast. “It’s not about to be written up in the Prophet for public perusal, but we do know why. He was a spy for Lord Voldemort for at least the past year, possibly longer. He was passing on information about the Potters and the rest of the Order to his true master. He was never loyal to us.”
Suddenly restless, Aberforth shifted in his chair. Albus’s words didn’t seem real.
“Black deceived us all, and for a very long time,” Albus continued, sorrow creeping into his tone for the first time that morning. “None were so deceived as his friends. The Potters used a certain kind of charm to hide themselves. They trusted only Black with the knowledge of their location-he is the only one who could have betrayed them. Peter Pettigrew said as much before Black killed him and a street full of innocents…” Albus winced. “After what happened yesterday, I’m afraid there can be no doubt of his guilt.”
Aberforth tore off another piece of bread, and tried to mull this over. All he could come up with was the image of two boys in Gryffindor colors running through the streets of Hogsmeade, bewitched mirrors in hand, their faces split in roguish smiles. He shook his head. “I can’t believe that he betrayed James Potter. They were like brothers.”
“Ah.” Albus searched his face with piercing eyes. “And that relationship can never fall apart?” he whispered.
Unable to reply, Aberforth took another bite of bread. Something caught in his throat when he tried to swallow. Yes, relationships could fall apart. In seeking power, one brother could betray another. No one could inflict pain like family. Aberforth knew this all too well. He looked up to the portrait of Ariana and she smiled vacantly back at him. Albus studied his hands intently and said no more.
Too many conflicting thoughts flashed through Aberforth’s mind. He considered the incident two weeks ago when he’d last seen Sirius Black; fear had been palatable in his eyes. He remembered the crushed expression of thirteen-year-old Regulus Black when Sirius left the Hog’s Head without him, arm in arm with his new best friend. He looked back at the man raving in the picture.
A dizzying ache built steadily in the back of Aberforth’s skull. What did it matter? He barely tolerated Sirius Black. He pushed himself away from the table. He didn’t want to think about this. “I’m opening early today. You’d best go,” he said abruptly.
Albus stood and straightened his overly-elaborate robes. “If you are willing, I would very much like to visit again in a few weeks.”
He thought about saying no. He thought about turning his head away and saying nothing at all. But when Albus swept past him on the way to the door, he sighed and said, “I’d like that.” Albus turned back to him with a tentative smile, and Aberforth knew he’d said the right thing.
He kept the Hog’s Head open late into the night. At the end of the day when he made his way up the stairs to his small living quarters, Aberforth only lit a single candle. The dimly flickering light cast strange shadows over the room. Ariana swayed in her frame. Sirius’s picture silently cackled. Nothing had changed, and yet the space felt alien and uninviting. Aberforth collapsed onto his threadbare sofa and leaned his head against the back. Weariness crept in his bones, and an inexplicable anger surged through him. Something had broken, and he couldn’t figure out what-or why. He snatched the Daily Prophet and threw it in the bin with Black’s picture face down.
***
(Scenes from the Hog’s Head Inn, Part 2 of 2)
Author: wotcher_wombat
Recipient: fugacious_love
Character(s): Aberforth Dumbledore, Sirius Black
Rating: PG
Warnings (highlight to view): a bar brawl, a wee bit of language
Wordcount: 11,341 words
Summary: Aberforth wondered if he’d ever had a handle on Sirius Black. Had he ever seen the boy, or merely the shadows of things he’d wanted to see?
Author's Notes: I tried to incorporate a little bit of everything from my prompt. I hope you enjoy it!
Betas: Many thanks to Lisa and Debbie for the beta. All mistakes and Americanisms are my own.
If there’s an art to bartending, surely Aberforth Dumbledore never learned it. He poured and refilled as necessary, but he would never whip up any fantastic concoctions of bright colors and whimsy. He never stayed up at night worrying how to make the place a better business. His Inn would never invite friendly, open conversation the way Rosmerta’s did. However, despite this lack of skill, dedication, and welcome, the Hog’s Head had become something of an institution under his helm. His clientele ranged from the dodgiest sort of villains to any number of average folk wanting to be left alone. Most were content to take their liquor in silence, and perhaps it was the gruff indifference of the owner which set the tone. There was nothing in Aberforth’s manner that would encourage any customers to confide in him.
There were always exceptions, of course.
Young Gilderoy Lockhart had once rhapsodized for hours about how he would make something of himself one day, flashing a debonair smile to the room at large. Aberforth surmised that anyone smart enough to see through the smarmy façade would see that the boy hadn’t one iota of talent. Years later, when Lockhart’s books became unprecedented best-sellers, Aberforth lost a little more patience with the world.
Judith Thickey had given him an earful on the worthlessness of all men after her husband faked a Lethifold attack just to run off with another woman. She swore up and down that she would never go within five hundred feet of the other woman’s tavern, the Green Dragon, and would happily travel miles out of her way to frequent the Hog’s Head from now on. Aberforth quickly recommended the sympathetic ear of Madam Rosmerta, and when that didn’t work he mentioned his own machinations to escape a shrill harpy in his youth. Judith Thickey abruptly stomped to the door and never returned.
Albus occasionally stopped by, using his strange humor as a shield. His light manner concealed his aggravation and sense of duty to everyone but Aberforth. These meetings were always awkward, but Aberforth had neither the knack for social graces nor the desire to let Albus off the hook. His brother deserved occasional discomfort.
There was a terrible scene when Brent Bones came in fresh from the slaughter of his family. He drank himself sick, and babbled incoherently about the sight of his baby sister’s broken body heaped on the floor, his mother screaming from the other room, the house in flames all around them. Aberforth let him talk, took him to a room upstairs when he could no longer sit up, let him stay the night and most of the next day, and never charged him a Knut.
He’d seen a parade of wizards in witches come through the Hog’s Head over the years, and every once in a while there was a misguided soul looking to befriend him. Though hardly an enjoyable aspect to his profession, it was inevitable. Aberforth built something of a tolerance for this occasional annoyance.
But dealing with Sirius Black was another matter altogether.
***
Looking back, Aberforth realized he should have expected it. It was the second Hogsmeade weekend for the kids up at the school, and having explored the small village in their first visit, some younger kids would be turning up on his doorstep in a foolish attempt to prove their bravado to one another. However, when Sirius Black swaggered into the Hog’s Head on that cold day in 1974, Aberforth raised his grizzled eyebrows in surprise.
Sirius waved to the other customers and made his way to the bar, acting like a prince among commoners, oblivious to the dark mutters from the usual customers. In contrast, little Regulus Black shuffled along behind him, scrutinizing his surroundings with wide, nervous eyes. With a tug on Sirius’s sleeve, he whispered something in his brother’s ear.
“Nonsense!” Sirius shouted in response. “Why wouldn’t we be welcome here? We should be honored guests!”
Regulus paled, his expression mortified as he mumbled again to his brother.
Sirius merely cackled. Several patrons turned to glower at the boys, but it only served to widen Sirius’s smile. “That’s exactly why you need me to show you around, little brother. Come on!” He pulled his brother through the hostile room. They sat directly before Aberforth with their legs dangling from the barstools.
“Two Butterbeers, please.” Sirius leaned against the counter, shaking his hair out of his face with a graceful nonchalance.
Aberforth tried to discourage him with his glare. “I don’t carry Butterbeer.”
“Well, you should,” Sirius replied, clearly undaunted. He turned to his companion. “What do you reckon, Reg? Firewhisky, then?”
Regulus shook his head. His eyes watched his brother in admiration, even as he writhed in embarrassment. “We should just go back to the Three Broomsticks-”
“Don’t be a twat,” Sirius scolded. “Here you are with the chance to hang out with me. You should be thrilled. I’ll bet none of your pathetic little Slyther-friends would have the guts to go anywhere interesting like this.” Sirius shoved his brother’s shoulder causing Regulus to slip from his barstool. “And then!” Sirius continued with a laugh. “Then you get to go back to school telling everybody about your fantastic adventure-instant glamour! Admit it, my plan is flawless.”
Regulus ducked his head as he tried to climb back on the barstool. “I didn’t come here to tell tales-I-I just thought you were going to show me the village.”
“Relax, Reg. My way is much, much better.” Sirius smirked at the patrons in the room and gave a brassy wink to Aberforth. “You get to do it in style.”
Ah. Sirius was trying to be cool, looking to impress all those around him with his wit and brilliance. Aberforth knew a little something about that tendency, and it wasn’t pretty. He had no patience for anyone valuing their own intelligence over family-he had Albus for that. He set down the bottle in his hands with a loud clang. “Get out of here. Both of you. Now.”
“Oi! What have we done?” Sirius protested.
Aberforth glowered. “I don’t have time for your lip, boy.”
“I think we’ve gotten off to a wrong start,” he tried again, his voice dripping in charm. “My name is Sirius Black.” The boy held out his hand in a friendly gesture.
Aberforth stared at it, and continued wiping the counter with his dirty rag.
“See, I told you we should go,” Regulus mumbled.
“Have a spine for once, Reg,” Sirius barked, his charming manner broken in frustration. “Do something that’s even a little bit exciting-shock me.”
“I just don’t see the need to fight against… everything,” Regulus replied.
Sirius was about to argue, but Aberforth interrupted him. “No one’s going to fight in here. I told you two-out. And take your problems with you.” Aberforth threw down his rag. He’d thrown countless people out his business over the years, but somehow Aberforth couldn’t bring himself to physically expel the boys from the bar. Instead he gave them his most intimidating look.
“Come now, that’s no way to treat a paying customer.” Sirius slid a Galleon across the counter and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Aberforth huffed in frustration. “Listen here. I don’t care who your family is-I don’t care about your problems-and I won’t be bought with a measly Galleon. Get out of my sight.”
Inexplicably, Sirius Black smiled at this. “I don’t care about the family name either. I’m not like the rest of them-I’m a Gryffindor!”
“Hey!” Regulus protested, looking struck. “There’s nothing wrong with our family. Don’t say that like it’s something shameful.”
Sirius snorted and turned away. “Isn’t it, though?”
At that moment they heard another, smaller voice issue from Sirius’s pocket. “Hey, where are you? Are you there?” Sirius pulled out a small enchanted mirror that Aberforth had seen once before, and Regulus grimaced.
“Yeah, I’m in the Hog’s Head,” Sirius whispered to the mirror.
“The Hog’s Head? Brilliant! I’m right there,” the voice replied, and not a minute later, another young boy strutted up to the bar. Aberforth watched with dwindling patience. Was his establishment about to become the hangout of all the Hogwarts set?
“So, this is the Hog’s Head. I always thought it would be… more exciting,” said James Potter with a shrug when he reached Sirius’s side. “It’s not dangerous at all.”
“Really?” Sirius asked. “I think it’s great! The bartender’s already threatened to throw us out-haven’t you?”
“Who’s threatening? I want you out,” Aberforth grumbled idly.
James Potter laughed easily and leaned closer to Sirius. “Listen, maybe we should go.” He shot a furtive look at Regulus. “I think I’ve found something that might interest you over at a certain haunted house. I thought, if you’re done with the peanut gallery, you and I might check it out.”
Sirius looked out the window towards the Shrieking Shack hungrily. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds-” He looked back to his brother and squared his shoulders. “Hey, Reg, you can meet up with some of your friends, right? James and me-we’re going to take off.”
“Finally,” muttered Aberforth.
Regulus frowned, his eyes guarded. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why should you mind? All you’ve done is complain all day,” Sirius protested. “Really, it’s not a big deal. Don’t be a baby about it, okay?”
“Right. Why should I expect you to keep your word?” said Regulus. He crossed his arms and scowled. “You always do this-you’re such a-a blood traitor!”
Aberforth turned to the younger Black with interest at the insult.
“What?” Sirius chuckled in bewilderment. “The Potters aren’t even-Oh!” His laugh turned menacing. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was talking to Mum.”
Regulus flushed in anger, but didn’t respond.
After a moment, Sirius softened his stance and sighed. “Listen, this is nothing to get upset over. I’ll see you again later tonight-it’s not the end of the world. All right?”
“Yeah. Right,” Regulus said distantly. “Just go.”
Sirius gave his brother a strained smile. “I’ll see you later, then?”
He couldn’t be sure, but Aberforth felt something else hanging unspoken in the air, something final, something somber. He busied himself clearing glasses from the counter.
“Later. Yeah.” Regulus shrugged and slid his hands in his pockets.
With a smirk, Sirius threw his arm around James Potter and the pair bounded out the door of the Inn, shouting some tomfoolery that sounded like, “Marauders away!”
In their wake, Regulus let his face fall into a look of hurt, his shoulders sagging.
He looked so crushed that Aberforth considered telling him to buck up. His brother would come around after the world knocked him around a bit-and if he didn’t, then he wasn’t worth the effort. Aberforth knew; he had personal experience with estranged brothers. Surely fate had something in store to humble Sirius Black.
Before Aberforth could find the right words to encourage him, though, Regulus turned away. He squared his shoulders and walked out the door of the Inn, pointedly looking away from the direction Sirius had taken.
***
The roar of the engine approached the Hog’s Head long before the motorcycle came into view. By winter of 1979, the deafening sound of Sirius Black on his flying bike was so common to the villagers of Hogsmeade that they hardly turned to look at the oddly bewitched Muggle contraption as it glided to a stop outside the Inn. A moment later Sirius burst in through the door, his leather jacket ripped, his t-shirt bloodied, reckless energy rolling from him in waves. This, too, was not unusual.
Aberforth only took notice of the boy a split second before chaos erupted. His eyes dark and ferocious, Sirius rushed to the corner of the pub and without even drawing his wand he launched himself at a patron in a dark cloak.
It only took another second before people started to scream and a cacophony of sound enveloped the pub. Patrons started fleeing out the door while a crowd of hooded figures surrounded the fight. They were indistinguishable inside their black cloaks, aside from the sound of their voices which jeered loudly as they brandished their wands against Sirius.
“Where is he? What have you done, you filth?” Sirius roared amidst the din.
“Oi-think this one’s a bit upset!” laughed a voice in the mob.
Ropes materialized from thin air and tired to bind Sirius, but he tore his way loose and attacked wildly, screaming, “Tell me where he is-or I’ll rip you limb from limb-I swear I’ll-”
“Because ickle Reggie meant so much to you, did he?” came the taunting, nasal voice of Marcus Avery. “Cared so much that you turned your back on him?”
“Where’s my brother?” demanded Sirius. “Tell me!”
“Going soft-wasn’t he?” said a deep, menacing voice. “He learned the hard way-you can’t turn your back on the Dark Lord! The mark is for life!”
The sounds of bones crunching were unnaturally loud as Sirius pummeled one of the men-Midas Mulciber, by the sound of his screams.
Aberforth remembered that sound too vividly. He knew the empty satisfaction that came with it. The fight wouldn’t do anything to save Regulus, just as breaking Albus’s nose had done nothing to save Ariana. Still, it felt damn good.
Deeming it necessary, Aberforth let the fight continue for the moment.
Sirius bellowed in fury as a blue spell broke across his back. He collapsed to his knees and struggled to stand while the crowd continued to ridicule him.
“He deserved what he got!” shouted Avery. “You’ll get worse!”
They attacked with wordless incantations, and Sirius gasped at each blow. His face swelled to horrific proportions, ghastly bruises appearing across his skin in accelerated sensitivity. Under some unknowable spell, Sirius staggered to his feet, coughing blood, his eyes watering in pain.
This was starting to get out of hand. “Everybody needs to calm down. Now!” Aberforth declared, his voice lost amidst the violence and shouting.
“I’ll-I’ll kill you-I swear, I’ll kill you all!” Sirius rasped, a dangerous look in his eyes. “I’ll make you sorry-”
“We’d still die with more dignity than Regulus,” someone hissed.
At these words, Sirius sprung into motion, assaulting everyone around him in a blind rage. He unleashed a brutality that Aberforth had never seen in an unarmed fighter.
“Enough of this child’s play,” said a soft voice. “Crucio!”
Immediately, Sirius dropped to the floor shrieking and writing in agony. The crowd laughed and cheered around him. The moment seemed to drag on unnaturally, and Aberforth felt a cold, sick feeling sinking into his stomach.
“Expelliarmus!” called Aberforth in a ringing voice. He reached out and caught a bundle of wands as they flew to him from the hands of the hooded men. Everyone in the Inn turned to look at Aberforth, and Sirius’s panting for breath seemed to boom in the silence.
“Think very carefully about what you’re doing, old man,” threatened one of the hooded men. “You’d hate to make an enemy of us. Give our wands back.”
Aberforth shook his head. “Your threats won’t work on me. You need me at the Hog’s Head-because I’m the only one who will turn a blind eye to your dealings. I don’t care what else you do, but there will be no Unforgivables used in my Inn. Do you understand me?” He threw open the door and hurled the wands out into the street. “Now, if you want your wands, go and get them!”
Once the hooded mob had gone, only Sirius and Aberforth were left inside the Hog’s Head. The still emptiness seemed shocking after such a vicious scene, and for a moment the two could only look at each other and blink.
“Let me get you a bandage,” Aberforth muttered as he walked back to the bar. He started pulling spare cloths out onto the counter, but each one seemed dirtier than the last.
“S’alright,” Sirius sighed, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Doesn’t hurt.” He leaned against a bar stool.
Aberforth nodded. “Right.”
Their voices sounded flat and perfunctory in the quiet. Aberforth understood that.
“I won’t get him back,” Sirius confessed.
Aberforth held the silence a beat too long before he replied, “I suppose not.”
***
To Aberforth’s immense disappointment, Sirius Black did not limit his cheerful pontificating to the Hogs Head Inn. In the spring of 1978, Sirius and a handful of his peers all on the cusp of finishing Hogwarts joined the Order of the Phoenix with great bombast. Aberforth sat at the back of the room at the meeting with his arms crossed over his chest, certain that this starry-eyed crop of kids was his brother’s biggest mistake yet.
“And see, we just ironed them on-and it stays on the t-shirt,” Sirius explained, holding up the phoenix-emblazoned garment with pride. “The Muggles are just brilliant at stuff like this-and they did it all without a transference spell!”
“We made enough for everyone,” James Potter added, tossing shirts out to the group. The redheaded girl beside James rolled her eyes.
Alastor Moody scoffed. “What part of secret organization is too much for you two to grasp? You want to risk our safety with a juvenile stunt like this?”
“Lighten up, Mad-Eye,” Sirius teased. “It’s for morale!”
Moody huffed in frustration, but at the front of the room Albus merely laughed.
“I am sure your enthusiasm will be infectious,” said Albus. “And now that we’ve welcomed our newest members, I have one last point of business before we dismiss. It’s sort of a homework assignment, if you will.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be done with homework?” laughed Sirius. James punched his shoulder appreciatively.
Albus gave another indulgent smile. “Yes, as hard as it must be for our newcomers, this is important to our work. The Order will face many trials in the coming years, and it is important that we always have a safe and secure way to contact one another. I have devised a charm to solve the problem. Allow me to demonstrate.”
He raised his arm and wordlessly summoned his Patronus. A shimmering white phoenix flew once around the room before returning to the front. Then, it opened its beak and spoke in Albus’s voice, “We can communicate by Patronus.”
An awed murmur went around the room, and Albus’s eyes twinkled with pride. “No one can replicate another’s Patronus, so we can always trust any messages delivered this way. A Patronus can travel great distances in a matter of moments, and one only needs a wand to send word. I can think of no safer or more convenient way to communicate. So, I am asking you all to practice your Patronus Charms. The next time we meet, I shall teach you all how to make your Patronuses speak.”
Everyone seemed excited as the meeting adjourned. James Potter and the girl everyone would one day know as Lily Potter quickly made friends with the other Order members. The new recruits with their boisterous humor were instantly popular. They joked and charmed their way through the crowd until a large group decided to head for the pub together. Their laughter echoed in the stairway as they left headquarters.
In contrast to these high spirits, Aberforth felt nothing but frustration. His face fell into lines of vexation, and he made no effort to hide it. He’d never learned how to produce a Patronus. Naturally, this was the charm his brother would deem vital for everyone to know. His mood wasn’t improved when Sirius Black sidled up his seat.
“Don’t you want to go off with the rest of them?” he griped.
Sirius ignored him and threw his arm around the back of Aberforth’s chair. “So, Ab… All this time you were in a secret organization-fighting evil and saving the world right from behind the bar at the Hog’s Head! It’s brilliant! Why did you never tell me about your secret double life?”
Aberforth knocked the boy’s arm off the chair. “Why would I tell you anything?”
“Because I’m friendly, and delightful, and magnanimous,” Sirius smirked. “Also because you need me.”
“Need you?” Aberforth scoffed. “Hardly.”
“For someone who leads a double life, you need to work on your poker face,” Sirius laughed. “Dumbledore-that is, Albus-said something that’s displeased you. What’s going on?”
“Mind your own business.” Aberforth crossed his arms.
As ever, Sirius remained undaunted. “You don’t like your brother very much, do you?”
“You’re a fast study.” Aberforth rolled his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and muttered to himself, “Not everyone thinks the world revolves around Albus. Not everyone cares about fancy spells-much less demands them.”
“Demands them?” Sirius turned to him with interest. “Are you saying you can’t cast a Patronus?”
Aberforth flushed in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He looked away, refusing to answer.
“Hmm. I think we can fix that. How about this,” Sirius offered. “I’ll help you with the Patronus Charm, and I won’t say a word about it to anyone. In return, I’d like some free drinks at the Hog’s Head. What do you say?”
What other choice did he have? Despite his many misgivings, Aberforth agreed. By their seventh practice, Aberforth’s frustration had turned to hostility.
“I think I’m going to get a motorcycle, you know.” Sirius casually leaned against the bar of the Hog’s Head and watched as Aberforth struggled.
“Shut it,” Aberforth grunted, uninterested in the boy’s exploits. He raised his wand and tried again. “Expecto Patronum!”
An undefined silver mist came from his wand and dissipated in a matter of seconds.
“You don’t understand,” the boy babbled. “I’ve wanted one since I first took Muggle studies. I picked up a manual for one-I used to read it every night before I went to bed. This is a big deal. I’m really going to get one-and I’m going to make it fly.”
“I don’t see how this matters,” Aberforth snapped.
“It matters because the thought of my own motorcycle makes me incredibly happy. I’m practically walking on air when I think about it. But I can’t make a Patronus with it.” Sirius shuffled forward and raised his wand. “As amazing as a motorcycle is, it doesn’t go deep enough. My best Patronuses? They come from moments I’ve shared with my mates. Making Peter laugh, giving Remus a moment of glory, getting into trouble with James-that’s what works.”
Eyes closed in concentration, the boy murmured the incantation as a massive bear-like dog sprung from the tip of his wand. Sirius opened his eyes to watch it gambol around the room, and a gentle smile lit up his face. When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “My friends are the reason I get up in the morning. They’re why I keep fighting. To me, it makes sense that these are the memories that will protect me.”
Aberforth shifted uncomfortably. “I’m supposed to think of my friends, then?”
“I don’t know,” Sirius said. “That’s what works for me. I just think that maybe you need to look for something more important-something very personal. That might help you make a stronger Patronus.”
While Aberforth had to admit the boy had a point, part of him was terrified to think of anything so personal. When had he last been truly, completely, unabashedly happy? It had been years since he let himself remember. It seemed his memories all carried the taint of guilt and horror. He doubted he would ever produce a corporal Patronus.
“Just try it,” Sirius encouraged. “You might be surprised.”
Against his better judgment, Aberforth allowed himself to think back. He recalled the sound of childish laughter, the feel of warm sunlight stretching across his skin, an earthy smell of goats in the pasture. Ariana smiled at him in her dreamy sort of way-the image was so clear it caused Aberforth to tremble. He couldn’t allow himself to think of what came after. He struggled to stay in the moment, though tragedy threatened to bleed into every facet of the scene.
Beneath it all was the image of his sister lying dead on the floor, her face frozen in a look of mild surprise.
Giving his head a violent shake, he forced himself to think. One moment-just one second-that was all he needed.
He held Ariana’s hand forward. She trusted him completely and didn’t pull away. Together they offered food to the goats, and she shrieked with laughter as their tongues lapped over her hand. He remembered the look of joy that passed over his sister’s face, every exact detail filling him with long-forgotten emotions. It was a perfect moment in an imperfect world.
His words were almost a plea. “Expecto Patronum.”
Again a silver mist sprung from his wand, but this time it quickly formed into a large, defined shape. It charged across the room, and for a moment, the Hog’s Head seemed brighter. Aberforth didn’t have to look to know it would be a goat.
“Yes!” Sirius cheered. “You did it!”
“I saw.” Aberforth fought to keep his voice even. He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. His breath came in gasps. “I saw that.”
“It looked great.” Sirius smiled and clapped his hand on Aberforth’s shoulder.
Aberforth had to sit down. “We’re done for tonight.”
Nodding sagely, the boy gathered his things and left the Inn, leaving Aberforth to his thoughts. That night he dreamed of Ariana, remembering the rare sound of her laughter. The memory still cut through his heart, but for the first time in decades, Aberforth considered that it might not be a bad thing.
The next week he commissioned an artist to paint a portrait of his Ariana.
***
Tossing some change to the owl, Aberforth retrieved his rolled up newspaper and set out a plate of food for his brother. Albus had promised to come over for breakfast today; whether he honored this meeting or rushed off to some important crisis or another was yet to be seen. The owl eyed the meal hopefully, but Aberforth shooed it away with a vicious swat. He tore off a piece of bread and settled to read the paper while he waited.
He expected to headline to be full of self-congratulating nonsense about the abrupt defeat of the You-Know-Who a scant two days ago. He expected more hero-worshipping of the infant boy at the center of the mystery. He expected more pictures of the Potters’ crumbling cottage. He expected articles about the tactical genius of the Ministry that lead to victory.
What faced him instead was a picture of Sirius Black laughing wildly under the headline, “MASS MURDERER SENT TO AZKABAN.”
He blinked, looked at the picture again, and then proceeded to devour the article.
“Have you read this?” Aberforth asked as soon as Albus stepped inside the door. He shoved his copy of the Daily Prophet under his brother’s crooked nose. Though his body seethed in anger, Aberforth held himself in check.
“Here I thought you didn’t read,” Albus quipped with a bland smile. “Perhaps your interest in the written word has sprouted after all?”
Aberforth grumbled. It was one thing to read the sort of high-minded conceptual rubbish his brother cherished. Reading the news and keeping tabs on real problems and threats was another matter altogether. He jabbed the paper with his finger. “Right here. Front page. Gigantic bloody picture. Sirius Black.”
Albus sighed. “Yes, I’ve read it. May I sit down?”
Aberforth stepped back and surveyed his brother’s detached expression as they sat down at the table. “So that’s it, then,” he said after a moment’s silence. “You’re not going to do anything for him. You’re letting him go off the Azkaban without even a trial.” He waited, but when Albus made no reply, he threw his hands up in the air. “And here I thought you’d taken a stand against Crouch’s tactics. I thought you were making a case for compassion.”
“Not this time.” Albus’s face turned to a grimace. “I believe Sirius Black is beyond the limits of even my compassion.”
“I know all about your limits,” Aberforth said darkly. “And I suppose it doesn’t matter to you that Crouch can get his way-that he can cart the next nutter off to Azkaban without the bother of a trial. I’m glad you made it so much easier for him.”
Albus hung his head and chuckled wryly. “As ever, you see straight through to my hypocrisy. I must say something for the next trial, you’re right. However, if Barty Crouch sends Black to Azkaban, I will not contest it.”
“So, he’s become ‘Black’ now, has he?”
With a curious glace at his brother, Albus folded his hands together. “I thought you of all people would be telling me to cut my losses-to distance myself from a mass murderer as quickly as I could.”
Aberforth startled. Backing away from any connection with Sirius Black was the practical thing to do, of course. It ought to be second nature for Aberforth by now; he’d made a life for himself by keeping his head down and his mouth shut. He wondered why that instinct felt so wrong now. He looked away from Albus and shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake off his unease.
Sirius Black laughed hysterically from the front page of the newspaper.
“It just doesn’t set right with me,” Aberforth muttered. “Look at him. He’s mad. He’s broken. No one’s even trying to find out why.” He thought of the absurd pride Sirius took in his Muggle motorbike, the Muggle clothes he flaunted in the face of his pureblood peers, the Muggle music he sang when pissed. Aberforth couldn’t reconcile this with the raving man in the paper who’d killed twelve Muggles.
He couldn’t imagine any version of Sirius Black who would murder a friend.
“We know why,” said Albus. His voice was light, but he kept his hands busy by meticulously spreading jam on his toast. “It’s not about to be written up in the Prophet for public perusal, but we do know why. He was a spy for Lord Voldemort for at least the past year, possibly longer. He was passing on information about the Potters and the rest of the Order to his true master. He was never loyal to us.”
Suddenly restless, Aberforth shifted in his chair. Albus’s words didn’t seem real.
“Black deceived us all, and for a very long time,” Albus continued, sorrow creeping into his tone for the first time that morning. “None were so deceived as his friends. The Potters used a certain kind of charm to hide themselves. They trusted only Black with the knowledge of their location-he is the only one who could have betrayed them. Peter Pettigrew said as much before Black killed him and a street full of innocents…” Albus winced. “After what happened yesterday, I’m afraid there can be no doubt of his guilt.”
Aberforth tore off another piece of bread, and tried to mull this over. All he could come up with was the image of two boys in Gryffindor colors running through the streets of Hogsmeade, bewitched mirrors in hand, their faces split in roguish smiles. He shook his head. “I can’t believe that he betrayed James Potter. They were like brothers.”
“Ah.” Albus searched his face with piercing eyes. “And that relationship can never fall apart?” he whispered.
Unable to reply, Aberforth took another bite of bread. Something caught in his throat when he tried to swallow. Yes, relationships could fall apart. In seeking power, one brother could betray another. No one could inflict pain like family. Aberforth knew this all too well. He looked up to the portrait of Ariana and she smiled vacantly back at him. Albus studied his hands intently and said no more.
Too many conflicting thoughts flashed through Aberforth’s mind. He considered the incident two weeks ago when he’d last seen Sirius Black; fear had been palatable in his eyes. He remembered the crushed expression of thirteen-year-old Regulus Black when Sirius left the Hog’s Head without him, arm in arm with his new best friend. He looked back at the man raving in the picture.
A dizzying ache built steadily in the back of Aberforth’s skull. What did it matter? He barely tolerated Sirius Black. He pushed himself away from the table. He didn’t want to think about this. “I’m opening early today. You’d best go,” he said abruptly.
Albus stood and straightened his overly-elaborate robes. “If you are willing, I would very much like to visit again in a few weeks.”
He thought about saying no. He thought about turning his head away and saying nothing at all. But when Albus swept past him on the way to the door, he sighed and said, “I’d like that.” Albus turned back to him with a tentative smile, and Aberforth knew he’d said the right thing.
He kept the Hog’s Head open late into the night. At the end of the day when he made his way up the stairs to his small living quarters, Aberforth only lit a single candle. The dimly flickering light cast strange shadows over the room. Ariana swayed in her frame. Sirius’s picture silently cackled. Nothing had changed, and yet the space felt alien and uninviting. Aberforth collapsed onto his threadbare sofa and leaned his head against the back. Weariness crept in his bones, and an inexplicable anger surged through him. Something had broken, and he couldn’t figure out what-or why. He snatched the Daily Prophet and threw it in the bin with Black’s picture face down.
***
(Scenes from the Hog’s Head Inn, Part 2 of 2)