Fic: "Fraternity" for jncar
Apologies for the delay! Here's a good one to make up for that.
Title: Fraternity
Author: Lyras
Recipient: jncar
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore
Warnings: Since Aberforth and Albus have lived for a long time, the deaths of one or two minor (original, non-canon) characters are inevitable, I'm afraid. jncar, I truly hope this doesn't affect your enjoyment of the story!
Summary: Aberforth Dumbledore is very different from his brother.
Author's notes: "Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery" (Albus Dumbledore on his brother Aberforth in GoF). I have always been fascinated by the flippancy of this remark, and when jncar requested a story exploring their relationship, I started with this quote. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write about Aberforth, jncar; I hope I have done him justice in your eyes!
Thanks to carlanime for reading through the story and reassuring me about it.
i
Albus is a pretty child, despite the unfashionable colour of his hair. Their parents' friends take an interest in him and chat to him of current affairs, so that Albus learns to converse like an adult long before he is of age. They do not notice Aberforth, who is still in petticoats and thus only a baby. But Albus talks to him, and he learns in turn. By the time he is in proper clothes, the dynamic is established: Aberforth sees the world through an Albus-shaped filter.
After their parents' death, life becomes a bewildering whirl of lawyers (there are two: one stern fellow with a fraying waistcoat and no hair who treats the boys as nuisances; and one portly young man who looks at them - especially Albus - as if they are the dessert for which he has been saving his appetite), sundry of their parents' friends (Aberforth likes the man with the purple ruffles on his robes best, but Albus says he is a villain. Aberforth thinks that Albus just likes to show off his vocabulary), previously unheard-of relatives (Uncle Ernest), schools for impoverished orphans, and the workhouse, at which they arrive when Albus is ten and Aberforth seven.
ii
Aberforth remembers two things about the workhouse. He remembers Albus whispering to him as they lie wrapped in their robes, talking of a better life and how they will achieve it. Perhaps they could go to Australia, which is no longer just for criminals, or there is always America. Nearly every night, Aberforth falls asleep to the sound of Albus's fierce whisper beside him.
Aberforth is small enough to be warm with only his robes to cover him, and the hard bed does not bother him. Meanwhile, Albus shivers sleeplessly beside him in the clothes that he grew out of a year ago. Sometimes, Aberforth arranges his cloak so that it covers Albus, too, but his gesture is rarely accepted. Albus merely throws the cloak back over his brother and resumes his shivering, while Aberforth, who has no patience with such sensibility of feeling, goes back to sleep.
The other thing that Aberforth remembers about this time is his friends. There is Charlie, grey-skinned and nimble-fingered, whose parents have been sent to Bethlem where, it is whispered out of Charlie's hearing, terrible experiments are performed on them. There is Alfie, who talks longingly of the dying mother from whose soft arms he was snatched. George still sees his parents; every few months, his father, dressed in rich clothes and bearing a cane, collects him and he leaves with promises to visit and bring them treats. He never does visit - but he always returns (father and son both clad in rags), full of the taste of plum pudding and tales of his father's exploits.
Together, Charlie, Alfie, George and Aberforth (who is called Abe by his friends, Aberforth being too troublesome to pronounce in Charlie's opinion) form a coterie that repels all attacks, at least from other children. Later, Aberforth, who has few memories of his earlier life - although he tells the others that his parents were rich and loving, and thus assumes that they, also, are telling the truth about their backgrounds - will remember this as the most carefree period of his life. Work is hard, every mouthful must be fought for - but he knows that every blow from the workhouse master or the matron will be soothed by a bite of Alfie's bread, or a shiny button filched by Charlie, or a tale spun by George. He never questions his own contribution: they are his friends, as he is theirs, and that is enough.
When Monsieur Nicolas Flamel, dapper in dark robes, a little man in whom Aberforth can summon no interest, arrives to offer them a home, Aberforth does not want to go. He does not want to leave London, with its messy streets and filthy smells. London is more of a home to him than the luxurious country estate that he does not remember, and so when Monsieur Flamel talks of a quiet country life, animals, fresh air, Aberforth feels queasy. When Monsieur Flamel describes simple, honest people who help each other through the hard winters, Aberforth thinks, stupid. When Monsieur Flamel describes the apprentices who will be their colleagues, Aberforth vows to remain true to George and Charlie and Alfie.
iii
Albus, on the other hand, is overjoyed at Monsieur Flamel's offer - probably, Aberforth thinks, because he has no friends here in London. And what Albus wants is what will happen: his superiority of age and knowledge ensure that. Aberforth leaves behind Charlie and George and Alfie (who are unaccountably jealous of his misfortune), and exchanges the stench of London for an equally pungent Cheviot farm.
"Why does he want us?" he demands of Albus while Monsieur Flamel is discussing a change of horses at an inn near Grantham.
"Our father helped him when he came over from France," Albus answers, "in the revolution. Not money, of course - he never needs money. But Father helped him set up his laboratory. He wants to repay his debt."
That explains Monsieur Flamel's eccentricities, at any rate. Everyone in London knows that the French are a nation of madmen who lop off a man's head for the slightest crime, rather than go to the expense of transporting them to the Antipodes, as the English do. Aberforth watches him carefully for the remainder of the journey, but concludes that Albus is right: Monsieur Flamel means them no harm. He decides to accept the change in his life with the gratitude that is so patently expected.
The other apprentices are all impossibly tall and brawny, despite the fact that they spend their lives in unlit rooms, melting and mixing up minute amounts of metals and other mysterious substances. Their conversations jump from the quality of the kitchen maid's breasts to the properties of gold and the situation in India with alarming dexterity, and Aberforth is constantly at a loss. Albus, on the other hand, fits in perfectly, and it is not long before the other boys defer to him in matters of wit and intellect. He sleeps deeply at night, unlike Aberforth, who finds the Northumbrian night impossibly noisy, and misses the comforting, brotherly murmurs that accompanied his dreams in the workhouse.
Albus changes physically, too. He quickly grows out of his new robes, and his hair goes a darker red; even his voice crackles and deepens with new knowledge. He spends all day in Monsieur Flamel's laboratory, where the smells and smoke stifle Aberforth, who feels hopelessly left behind by his elder brother.
On the other hand, he is fascinated by the rare Northumbrian Border dragons that live nearby. There are only three, and the keeper, one Reginald Robson, believes they are the only remaining family. The mother is too old to breed, and so they will die out with the son, a sprightly thirty-year-old named Kraken by Madame Flamel, who is a romantic despite her advanced age. Aberforth is as comfortable practising his magic on Kraken to keep him away from the livestock as he ever was making himself unnoticeable to passers-by and stalking the alleyways of London. George, Charlie and Alfie, however, remain his only friends.
Aberforth learns to tend the local dragons, sheep and goats while Albus analyses their blood and spends long evenings with Monsieur Flamel in his study. When the decision is taken to move north to the Hebrides (for what use is research if the subjects are extinct?), Aberforth persuades Robson to take him on as an assistant.
Albus is furious and hurt. They have only each other in the world, and surely Aberforth wants to be with his brother. Doesn't he? But Aberforth is old enough to argue, and he will not be moved on against his will again.
iv
He is fifty-five when Kraken dies, but by then he has a Muggle wife and a Muggle-born son. They move to the town of Alnwick, because Elizabeth has ideas about young John's schooling, and because, even after forty years, Aberforth prefers the stench and clamour of civilisation to the homelier odours and sounds of the countryside. To earn money, he mans the bar in the Hotspur, a pub owned by Elizabeth's Uncle Albert, and finds he likes the job. The regular customers learn to leave him alone, while he learns to pour good ale, and everyone is happy.
Albus has written regularly, of course, and even sent money: larger or smaller amounts depending on how his career is progressing. He has kept Aberforth in touch with the world beyond Northumberland, and Elizabeth has persuaded him to reply occasionally. Once a year, Albus arrives in Alnwick, his beard a couple of inches longer than last time, with galleons in his purse, and books to celebrate John's birthday. Aberforth never looks at the books, although Elizabeth peruses them with frustrated curiosity and John with fascinated joy.
The news arrives, not via Albus for once, but from one of their few wizard acquaintances in the area, a fellow called Albert Wilkes, who knocks on the door one June evening wearing a shrewd smile and carrying the Daily Prophet under his arm. There is one of the new photographs on the front cover. Aberforth jumps to find Albus gazing up at him with that enigmatic smile he always favoured, flanked by Monsieur and Madame Flamel. The paper states that Albus and Monsieur Flamel have discovered several new uses for dragon blood. Aberforth thinks of Kraken soaring above the Cheviot. But they couldn't savethe dragons.
Albus's owl arrives the following day, bearing galleons and a letter. Having completed the research that has made him famous, at least in academic circles, Albus is going to travel. Take a holiday, as he puts it; see Austria-Hungary, Transylvania, Russia, and then across into the frozen Far East. He does not know how long he will be away. Meanwhile, he would like to use his good fortune to send John to the famous wizarding school of Hogwarts in September.
Aberforth does not like having John's schooling taken out of his hands in this manner, but he and Elizabeth could never afford to send him to any boarding school, let alone Hogwarts. Elizabeth is overjoyed, while John is intrigued at the idea of a boarding school, 'like the squire's sons go to'. And so the family travels to London, where Albus takes them shopping and John is given his first wand (oak, twelve and a half inches, dragon heartstring).
They dine in the Leaky Cauldron, after which Elizabeth claims John for bed. Aberforth knows she is giving them room to talk, but he has no idea what to say to this worldly brother of his, whom everyone in London, or at least the wizarding part of it, appears to know and respect. He drinks deeply of his butterbeer and lets Albus speak instead.
Albus talks of his travel plans, which begin, despite the exotic destinations, to sound suspiciously like work to Aberforth. He talks of his hopes for the future. He has been offered a teaching job at Hogwarts, and he should like to accept, "although not until John has left; I should think it would be terribly embarrassing for the poor boy to have his uncle as a professor." He sips his beer, which Aberforth can't help suspecting was chosen out of kindness to them, for surely he must be accustomed to fine wines and brandies now. "I'd like to know John better," he says suddenly. "I'd like to know you all better, in fact."
Aberforth lowers his gaze. He knows he should feel the same; they are brothers, each the other's only relation beyond a few distant cousins of the Black lineage. But they left one another so far behind all those years ago. He is curious about Albus's life. He would even go so far as to say that he respects Albus more than anyone else he knows - but he is not interested in knowing him better.
When Albus receives no response, he puts down his glass. "I hope you don't object to my attempts to set John along the path to fame and fortune?"
Aberforth is not fooled by the whimsy. "No, I'm-" grateful, he should say, but he can't, quite. "Pleased," he amends.
"It is the opportunity you and I never had, you see." Albus smiles wistfully. "We had to fight so ferociously, just to survive. I vowed I would not let it happen again. I'm grateful to have been given the chance to redeem myself."
Where you failed with me, thinks Aberforth. But I was happy. The thought rises from nowhere and floods him with an emotion that defies identification. To cover his confusion, he says, "John's a good lad. He'll work hard at Hogwarts."
"I'm sure he will," says Albus. "Although I hope he'll have fun, too. One should have fun at school, I think, with one's friends." This time, his smile takes ten years off him, and Aberforth responds, thinking of Charlie, George and Alfie.
Their memory is tarnished now. When he learned to Apparate, he began returning to London at odd hours to search for them. He never found Alfie or Charlie, but he came upon George once, or, more accurately, was come upon by George, who knocked him down with a view to robbing him. Aberforth was so shocked that, after Stunning him, he emptied his purse at George's feet and left him there, stinking of gin, and with rags tied to his feet for shoes. Aberforth would never have recognised him if he hadn't cherished his memories of the chipper boy who had once enthralled them with tales of his father's daring exploits. That was the last time he went back, and it is unlikely that any of them are still alive, caught in a system that gave them just enough to survive, but never enough to claw their way out of the mire.
"Nicolas and Perenelle would love to see you, you know," Albus says during the farewell exchange of hands. "If I might beg a favour...it would mean a great deal if you could visit them occasionally whilst I am travelling. They're neither of them young any more."
That, Aberforth feels, is an understatement. He agrees, mostly by omission, to go and see them. But after he and Elizabeth arrive home, it seems pointless to leave again, especially as John's departure is imminent.
v
Once John becomes accustomed to the sheer number of people at Hogwarts he does, as Aberforth predicted, work hard. He is an excellent potion-maker, talented at transfiguration, and passably good at most other subjects.
Having achieved (or having allowed Albus to achieve) her ambition for her son, Elizabeth is lost without him at home. She volunteers her services at the Hotspur, overseeing the cooking and working in the vegetable garden. Since her uncle refuses to let her work for free, they are better off than before, although no amount of guineas could fill the hole left by John. To work off her frustration, she sends him small amounts of cash, wrapped in long letters. "Those wizard children mustn't think we're poor," she tells Aberforth defensively whenever he catches her with the owl, and he has not the heart to point out that John can do nothing with Muggle money while he is at school .
In July 1914, John leaves Hogwarts for an apothecary's shop on the outskirts of Alnwick, and Austria-Hungary declares war on Serbia. A week later, Britain declares war on Germany, and half of Europe is at war. John enlists promptly and, after a short period of training, is sent to France.
Aberforth is torn: John is a wizard, and wizards have no business interfering in Muggle wars. And yet, Aberforth himself has carried on a kind of half existence, straddling the two worlds. His life has been a quiet one, his acquaintances mainly Muggles, but it has not been ordinary. Perhaps he does owe the Muggle world something - but he does not see why John should pay the debt.
Once John has left, however, there is nothing to do but wait. Like the rest of England, Aberforth and Elizabeth follow developments in the news avidly; Aberforth even subscribes to the Prophet. John writes to them, of course, but after the first eager epistles, his letters are brief and cold, as if he has left out everything that he wanted to say. Struggling to read the laconic scrawl, Aberforth is tempted to Apparate to the Front to learn what his son is going through, and to protect him. But it would not do. He learned long ago, when searching for his friends from the workhouse, that wizarding tricks do not help with these kinds of Muggle problems.
Albus writes, too, and his letters are much more informative than John's. Caught in Vienna when the troubles begin, he escapes some months later and volunteers for the wizarding organisation working with the Muggles to bring about peace.
This war is an evil thing, he writes in 1916, a disgusting travesty of honour. Our generals drink wine and talk of glory behind closed doors, and send our boys (for they are only children, so many of them!) to die like floundering cattle in fields flooded with mud. Our government says we must save brave little Belgium and poor, ravaged France from the grip of the invaders, and all the while sends soldiers to invade yet more places! My dear brother, I wish I could allay your fears, but I know you prefer truth to empty promises. We must trust to Fate to send John home to you and Elizabeth.
The letter is delivered by a bird that Aberforth, after some hesitant research and a nasty moment with a pile of ash, identifies as a phoenix. ("I must beg you to look after Fawkes for me for a little while. I shall be travelling overseas, and he is too spectacular to keep me company, at least on his good days.")
After his initial shock, Aberforth is fascinated by Fawkes's transformations (and how like Albus to name the bird after one of England's most famous insurrectionists). When he soars into the sky and circles the castle at Alnwick, Aberforth is reminded of Kraken taking his last, lonely flights. And every time he reappears, reborn from his own ashes, Aberforth remembers that nasty line in Albus's letter, "floundering cattle in fields flooded with mud," and he sends up a brief prayer to the God in which Elizabeth, at least, believes unreservedly. Bring my son home safely.
vi
God, or Fate, or John himself, complies. John is quieter than before the war, and bitter, but there is nothing physically wrong with him apart from superficial shrapnel wounds. He insists that they amount to nothing. "You ought to have seen the other fellows, Father."
Restless at home, it is barely three days before he goes to the Apothecary to beg for his old job. He is lucky: the girl who replaced him is getting married, and leaving anyway.
Once John starts work again, both Aberforth and Elizabeth notice an improvement. His sleep is quieter, his demeanour less volatile; it is as if the rhythm and rites of potion-making soothe the chaos in his mind. He dislikes the freedom of weekends, and often works seven days a week to keep his memories at bay.
Elizabeth dies in 1936. When the end comes, Aberforth is almost relieved. He is over ninety, and it has been painful to see his wife, more than twenty years his junior, fall victim to the ravages of age so quickly.
Shortly afterwards, John accepts a generous donation from Albus ("Let us call it an accumulation of gifts from a fond godfather.") and opens an apothecary's shop in Hogsmeade. He soon writes to urge Aberforth to give up the Hotspur, which they inherited a decade earlier from Elizabeth's uncle, and buy the Hog's Head, a run-down pub in the village.
Aberforth does not like the idea at first. He likes living among Muggles, most of whom know nothing about his famous, multi-talented brother.
But then war breaks out, and the dark wizard Grindelwald's hold on Central Europe looks increasingly ominous. Albus adds his pleas to John's, and Aberforth, who is worried about the effect of another war on his son, capitulates. With Albus teaching up at the school, they are living near one another for the first time in nearly a hundred years. However, the brothers rarely take advantage of their proximity to visit one another.
The Second World War is an odd time. People in the wizarding world feel threatened on two fronts: from Nazi Germany, and from Grindelwald's Greater Prussian Wizarding Federation, which is expanding at an alarming rate. The two overlap substantially, of course, but there is no question as to which plays more heavily on wizarding minds.
John does not have a good war. Hogsmeade is untroubled by air raids, but the headlines in the papers are inescapable. He often works well into the night, and falls asleep beside his cauldron, so that if he is woken by bad dreams he can continue where he left off. He takes his tea at the Hog's Head, but if there are too many customers, he retires to one of the private rooms upstairs, and leaves with shadowed eyes.
The Ministry of Magic appears incapable of doing anything, either to combat Grindelwald's rise abroad or to help wizards manage under difficult conditions at home. There are angry mutterings in the recesses of the Hog's Head. While wartime Britain is pulling together, wizarding Britain is on the verge of mutiny - a mutiny which is avoided when Albus takes matters into his own hands. In 1944, Grindelwald's power is broken; he is tried and executed by his countrymen, and Albus Dumbledore becomes the most famous wizard in the world. The Allies begin to overpower the Nazis at almost the same time (which may be, but is probably not, a coincidence), and then there is peace.
vii
Aberforth finds that the Hog's Head suits him. The clientele comprises a collection of misfits who are happy to leave him alone if he returns the favour. Rationing obviates the need to concoct any meal more sophisticated than stews enhanced with herbs grown in the garden. On a whim, Aberforth buys some goats and grazes them on rough ground outside the village. When one of them gets too weak, it goes into the stew. None of this is legal, but Aberforth is not interested in the law, and his customers do not complain when there is so little meat to go round.
Albus, meanwhile, is the most popular wizard in Britain. He is approached on several occasions, by both the Ministry of Magic and laymen, to take up a position in the Ministry, and he always refuses. He desires a quiet life, he says, and Hogwarts provides quite enough excitement for an old man.
But there is a period when he seems to waver. A mysterious fellow called Lord Voldemort has emerged on the political scene. His name is only spoken in whispers, but the whisperers say that he is styling himself as the saviour of wizards. The old blood is dying out; he cites a rise in the number of squibs, a figure that may or may not be accurate, to illustrate his point. No one knows what he looks like, although he is rumoured to be tall and handsome. He is also rumoured to be a great wizard, with strange powers gleaned from extensive studies in the dark arts. Soon, everyone is talking about Lord Voldemort, and many people are manoeuvring to meet him.
For the first time, Albus talks to the men from the Ministry. The current minister, Edgar Pokeby, has been in office since the end of the war, and seems keen to step down. He has no appetite for the new challenges that he foresees in Lord Voldemort and his enticing claims.
They never discover who breaks the story about the goats to the Daily Prophet. Aberforth doesn't much care; he has been an obscurity all his life, and he will no doubt remain so once the furore dies down. It is clear that the story is angled at Albus's political ambitions, such as they might have been, rather than at Aberforth himself. He is painted as Albus's rather dimwitted, neglected brother - repulsive, of course, since he apparently indulges in bestiality, but the Prophet implies that this kind of behaviour is somehow Albus's fault. Readers flock to the Hog's Head to gawk at him for a while, but that is good for business, and Aberforth is used to managing unruly customers.
It gets more serious when the Owl arrives from the Ministry of Magic. Albus, who has so far supported Aberforth's decision to ignore the story, now changes his position. If he does not defend himself to the Wizengamot against this ridiculous charge, everyone will believe him guilty. Does he want to be 'that man who had carnal relations with a goat' for the rest of his life?
Aberforth is uninterested. Let the Ministry do what they like; things will blow over, and as if anyone really cares what an old man does with his livestock.
Albus is furious. He travels to London to defend the charge personally, although without Aberforth's presence his gesture is patently futile. He pays the fine himself, and then returns to Hogwarts and does not visit Aberforth for eight years.
viii
One Saturday in 1965, Filius Flitwick, one of the professors from the school, hurries into the pub, gasping something about John and the shop.
Age has made Aberforth slower than ever, but something about Flitwick's face tells him to hurry. John's shop is on a corner of the main street, and as Aberforth emerges from the lane that leads to the Hog's Head, he sees a small crowd gathered on the pavement - a mixture of students and locals. There is shouting, although it dissipates as he draws near.
John is curled up in front of the shattered apothecary window, his robes wrapped around him like a shroud, his hands protecting his head. On the ground around him are several stones.
As Aberforth reaches the crowd, someone on the other side of it calls, "Tarantallegra!" John rises to his feet like a marionette and begins hopping about awkwardly, despite the fact that his teeth are bared, and tears are running freely down his cheeks. There is scattered laughter, but the people closest to Aberforth begin to edge away.
Aberforth pushes to the front. The man who cast the spell, a burly fellow who works in the post office, is still holding out his wand, laughing. In seconds, Aberforth has seized it; it is flexible, but not flexible enough, and it snaps with a loud crack. John stops dancing instantly, while the perpetrator stares disbelievingly.
"You can't do that!"
Aberforth ignores him. John has turned to the window and is leaning against it, his hands covering his eyes. Someone gets there before him: a girl, one of the barmaids at the Three Broomsticks, just across the way. "Come on, love," she urges him gently. "Come inside."
He starts to follow them, but another voice calls out, "He's a Mudblood! He shouldn't be here. This is wizarding ground."
Aberforth turns slowly. "And what," he asks the mob in general, "has he ever done to you?"
A lad pushes forward, one of the students, all black hair and flushed cheeks. "You're a blood traitor. Why couldn't you marry one of your own kind, instead of bringing filth like him into the world?"
There are mutters of agreement, but all the while people have been slipping away, leaving a core group of some ten agitators.
"Lord Voldemort says we must protect wizarding blood!" calls the student, his eyes alight with zeal. "The only way to protect ourselves is to remain pure; our blood's been diluted too much already by the likes of you."
Aberforth's initial fury has faded, leaving him facing the crowd uncertainly. He has never spoken in front of a large group of people before; in the pub, he even uses a gong instead of calling last orders.
But the boy's friend is nudging him; Professor Flitwick is hurrying down the street, and he will not miss them with so few people around. They race off in the other direction as Flitwick arrives, panting, "Disgusting behaviour...should be ashamed...so sorry." He waves his arms dismissively, and the remaining bystanders disperse. Aberforth gives him a nod of thanks, and then turns into the shop.
ix
John does not give up his business, but he hides behind it more than ever before. Aberforth takes to dropping in every morning, and often finds him slumped over his desk with alembics bubbling nearby. He wonders why John has never taken his own potions, which would ensure a good night's sleep and peace of mind. But it does not seem a good idea to suggest that now.
The barmaid from the Leaky Cauldron, Rosmerta, takes John his lunch; this Aberforth discovers when he drops round early one afternoon and finds her still here, buying some lovage to try in a new cocktail that they've been discussing. She is good with him; she teases him gently, even flirts a little; and when she leaves, he turns to his father with bright eyes, although his mood sours quickly. Still, he recovers better than Aberforth hoped on the day of the attack.
The mood in the Hog's Head is restless. There have been several murders, all in remote parts of the country apart from one high-profile case in London. The victims were all Muggle-born, making the implications of the mysterious Lord Voldemort's policies horribly clear. Customers discuss the situation in low voices, at least until the ale takes hold, and there are several violent arguments between opposing factions. Aberforth listens more attentively than he has ever done. John must not be hurt again.
Several months after the attack, the man from the post office visits the Hog's Head. He and his friends order food and double pints all round, and watch Aberforth knowingly as he clunks down the ales.
The confrontation is not long in coming. Aberforth hears John's name spoken; when he looks up, they are all grinning at him. "Shouldn'a married a dirty Muggle, should ya?" the man from the post office calls, and that is all it takes for Aberforth to overturn a mug of butterbeer over his head and herd everyone outside. The Hog's Head is closed until further notice.
Albus comes to call a couple of weeks later. Although it is nearly a decade since they have seen one another, he lets himself in, pours them both a butterbeer, and joins Aberforth in the back room. They drink for a while, the silence marred only by the clink of their glasses on the stained pine table.
Albus sets down another drink for each of them. "John is a good man," he says quietly. "He has led a blameless life, and a difficult one. He didn't deserve that debacle in the main street."
"Oh, shut up." Aberforth looks up finally, his eyes red through lack of sleep. "If that's all you've come to say, then get out. I don't want to hear it. Shut up."
"I am so sorry," Albus says, before complying with Aberforth's demand.
Halfway through the third pint, he tries again. "An organisation is being established, a clandestine one. It will liaise with the Ministry of Magic, but will remain independent." He pauses, but Aberforth gives no sign of having heard. "Its aim is to counteract the influence of Lord Voldemort."
Aberforth does look up at this, but hides his face quickly in his butterbeer.
"You and I are old men now," says Albus idly, although Aberforth knows quite well that the words are carefully chosen. "We cannot fight with our fists the way we used to. We must be subtle."
Has Albus ever been unsubtle? Aberforth wonders. But his curiosity is piqued. "What - what can we do, then?" Another gulp of butterbeer.
"Re-open the Hog's Head," says Albus promptly. "Allow us to use it as a base for meetings. Cultivate your customers, people with their ear to the ground. Tell us of any suspicious behaviour."
"You want me to spy on my customers?" asks Aberforth with a curl of his lip.
"Only those who are in the pay of Lord Voldemort," says Albus, and to that, Aberforth has no answer.
x
The first meeting takes place a week later, in the dusty upstairs parlour after closing time. Aberforth serves everyone drinks before retiring to the window seat. There are twelve people present, and most of the conversation centres on other potential recruits. Then they move onto potential recruits for Lord Voldemort. Names are mentioned, and people are assigned to research or surveillance tasks.
The organisation is named the Order of the Phoenix because, as Albus remarks, the wizarding world can be reborn in more ways than one.
Afterwards, some people shake Aberforth's hand and thank him for accommodating them. He does not know how to respond to this, and prefers the more diffident visitors who offer him awkward smiles or nods as they hurry downstairs.
Albus helps him clear up, and then pours them both a small firewhisky. "That went rather well, I thought," he says, stretching his legs out under the table. He holds his glass aloft. "To the future!"
Aberforth grunts. The other members look an untried lot to him, although perhaps that is the consequence of his being a good eighty years older than most of them. "How do you stand it?" he asks suddenly.
"What?"
"Being around all those young people. Children. Most of the professors are half your age, and I reckon everyone here tonight was under forty. You're closer to a hundred and forty."
Albus smiles. "Ah, but it's being around all those bright young things that keeps me young, I suspect. Perhaps you should try it."
Aberforth does not dignify that with an answer. They down their whisky in silence; then Albus taps him lightly on the shoulder, and goes downstairs. Aberforth watches him walk down the lane until his silhouette melts into the darkness around him. About now, he will be passing John's apothecary shop. In fifteen minutes, he will be walking up the driveway to the school where John lived for seven years, and which is now inhabited by hundreds of other children who know little of war or politics or blood.
To the future? he wonders, and closes the curtains.
Title: Fraternity
Author: Lyras
Recipient: jncar
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore
Warnings: Since Aberforth and Albus have lived for a long time, the deaths of one or two minor (original, non-canon) characters are inevitable, I'm afraid. jncar, I truly hope this doesn't affect your enjoyment of the story!
Summary: Aberforth Dumbledore is very different from his brother.
Author's notes: "Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery" (Albus Dumbledore on his brother Aberforth in GoF). I have always been fascinated by the flippancy of this remark, and when jncar requested a story exploring their relationship, I started with this quote. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write about Aberforth, jncar; I hope I have done him justice in your eyes!
Thanks to carlanime for reading through the story and reassuring me about it.
i
Albus is a pretty child, despite the unfashionable colour of his hair. Their parents' friends take an interest in him and chat to him of current affairs, so that Albus learns to converse like an adult long before he is of age. They do not notice Aberforth, who is still in petticoats and thus only a baby. But Albus talks to him, and he learns in turn. By the time he is in proper clothes, the dynamic is established: Aberforth sees the world through an Albus-shaped filter.
After their parents' death, life becomes a bewildering whirl of lawyers (there are two: one stern fellow with a fraying waistcoat and no hair who treats the boys as nuisances; and one portly young man who looks at them - especially Albus - as if they are the dessert for which he has been saving his appetite), sundry of their parents' friends (Aberforth likes the man with the purple ruffles on his robes best, but Albus says he is a villain. Aberforth thinks that Albus just likes to show off his vocabulary), previously unheard-of relatives (Uncle Ernest), schools for impoverished orphans, and the workhouse, at which they arrive when Albus is ten and Aberforth seven.
ii
Aberforth remembers two things about the workhouse. He remembers Albus whispering to him as they lie wrapped in their robes, talking of a better life and how they will achieve it. Perhaps they could go to Australia, which is no longer just for criminals, or there is always America. Nearly every night, Aberforth falls asleep to the sound of Albus's fierce whisper beside him.
Aberforth is small enough to be warm with only his robes to cover him, and the hard bed does not bother him. Meanwhile, Albus shivers sleeplessly beside him in the clothes that he grew out of a year ago. Sometimes, Aberforth arranges his cloak so that it covers Albus, too, but his gesture is rarely accepted. Albus merely throws the cloak back over his brother and resumes his shivering, while Aberforth, who has no patience with such sensibility of feeling, goes back to sleep.
The other thing that Aberforth remembers about this time is his friends. There is Charlie, grey-skinned and nimble-fingered, whose parents have been sent to Bethlem where, it is whispered out of Charlie's hearing, terrible experiments are performed on them. There is Alfie, who talks longingly of the dying mother from whose soft arms he was snatched. George still sees his parents; every few months, his father, dressed in rich clothes and bearing a cane, collects him and he leaves with promises to visit and bring them treats. He never does visit - but he always returns (father and son both clad in rags), full of the taste of plum pudding and tales of his father's exploits.
Together, Charlie, Alfie, George and Aberforth (who is called Abe by his friends, Aberforth being too troublesome to pronounce in Charlie's opinion) form a coterie that repels all attacks, at least from other children. Later, Aberforth, who has few memories of his earlier life - although he tells the others that his parents were rich and loving, and thus assumes that they, also, are telling the truth about their backgrounds - will remember this as the most carefree period of his life. Work is hard, every mouthful must be fought for - but he knows that every blow from the workhouse master or the matron will be soothed by a bite of Alfie's bread, or a shiny button filched by Charlie, or a tale spun by George. He never questions his own contribution: they are his friends, as he is theirs, and that is enough.
When Monsieur Nicolas Flamel, dapper in dark robes, a little man in whom Aberforth can summon no interest, arrives to offer them a home, Aberforth does not want to go. He does not want to leave London, with its messy streets and filthy smells. London is more of a home to him than the luxurious country estate that he does not remember, and so when Monsieur Flamel talks of a quiet country life, animals, fresh air, Aberforth feels queasy. When Monsieur Flamel describes simple, honest people who help each other through the hard winters, Aberforth thinks, stupid. When Monsieur Flamel describes the apprentices who will be their colleagues, Aberforth vows to remain true to George and Charlie and Alfie.
iii
Albus, on the other hand, is overjoyed at Monsieur Flamel's offer - probably, Aberforth thinks, because he has no friends here in London. And what Albus wants is what will happen: his superiority of age and knowledge ensure that. Aberforth leaves behind Charlie and George and Alfie (who are unaccountably jealous of his misfortune), and exchanges the stench of London for an equally pungent Cheviot farm.
"Why does he want us?" he demands of Albus while Monsieur Flamel is discussing a change of horses at an inn near Grantham.
"Our father helped him when he came over from France," Albus answers, "in the revolution. Not money, of course - he never needs money. But Father helped him set up his laboratory. He wants to repay his debt."
That explains Monsieur Flamel's eccentricities, at any rate. Everyone in London knows that the French are a nation of madmen who lop off a man's head for the slightest crime, rather than go to the expense of transporting them to the Antipodes, as the English do. Aberforth watches him carefully for the remainder of the journey, but concludes that Albus is right: Monsieur Flamel means them no harm. He decides to accept the change in his life with the gratitude that is so patently expected.
The other apprentices are all impossibly tall and brawny, despite the fact that they spend their lives in unlit rooms, melting and mixing up minute amounts of metals and other mysterious substances. Their conversations jump from the quality of the kitchen maid's breasts to the properties of gold and the situation in India with alarming dexterity, and Aberforth is constantly at a loss. Albus, on the other hand, fits in perfectly, and it is not long before the other boys defer to him in matters of wit and intellect. He sleeps deeply at night, unlike Aberforth, who finds the Northumbrian night impossibly noisy, and misses the comforting, brotherly murmurs that accompanied his dreams in the workhouse.
Albus changes physically, too. He quickly grows out of his new robes, and his hair goes a darker red; even his voice crackles and deepens with new knowledge. He spends all day in Monsieur Flamel's laboratory, where the smells and smoke stifle Aberforth, who feels hopelessly left behind by his elder brother.
On the other hand, he is fascinated by the rare Northumbrian Border dragons that live nearby. There are only three, and the keeper, one Reginald Robson, believes they are the only remaining family. The mother is too old to breed, and so they will die out with the son, a sprightly thirty-year-old named Kraken by Madame Flamel, who is a romantic despite her advanced age. Aberforth is as comfortable practising his magic on Kraken to keep him away from the livestock as he ever was making himself unnoticeable to passers-by and stalking the alleyways of London. George, Charlie and Alfie, however, remain his only friends.
Aberforth learns to tend the local dragons, sheep and goats while Albus analyses their blood and spends long evenings with Monsieur Flamel in his study. When the decision is taken to move north to the Hebrides (for what use is research if the subjects are extinct?), Aberforth persuades Robson to take him on as an assistant.
Albus is furious and hurt. They have only each other in the world, and surely Aberforth wants to be with his brother. Doesn't he? But Aberforth is old enough to argue, and he will not be moved on against his will again.
iv
He is fifty-five when Kraken dies, but by then he has a Muggle wife and a Muggle-born son. They move to the town of Alnwick, because Elizabeth has ideas about young John's schooling, and because, even after forty years, Aberforth prefers the stench and clamour of civilisation to the homelier odours and sounds of the countryside. To earn money, he mans the bar in the Hotspur, a pub owned by Elizabeth's Uncle Albert, and finds he likes the job. The regular customers learn to leave him alone, while he learns to pour good ale, and everyone is happy.
Albus has written regularly, of course, and even sent money: larger or smaller amounts depending on how his career is progressing. He has kept Aberforth in touch with the world beyond Northumberland, and Elizabeth has persuaded him to reply occasionally. Once a year, Albus arrives in Alnwick, his beard a couple of inches longer than last time, with galleons in his purse, and books to celebrate John's birthday. Aberforth never looks at the books, although Elizabeth peruses them with frustrated curiosity and John with fascinated joy.
The news arrives, not via Albus for once, but from one of their few wizard acquaintances in the area, a fellow called Albert Wilkes, who knocks on the door one June evening wearing a shrewd smile and carrying the Daily Prophet under his arm. There is one of the new photographs on the front cover. Aberforth jumps to find Albus gazing up at him with that enigmatic smile he always favoured, flanked by Monsieur and Madame Flamel. The paper states that Albus and Monsieur Flamel have discovered several new uses for dragon blood. Aberforth thinks of Kraken soaring above the Cheviot. But they couldn't savethe dragons.
Albus's owl arrives the following day, bearing galleons and a letter. Having completed the research that has made him famous, at least in academic circles, Albus is going to travel. Take a holiday, as he puts it; see Austria-Hungary, Transylvania, Russia, and then across into the frozen Far East. He does not know how long he will be away. Meanwhile, he would like to use his good fortune to send John to the famous wizarding school of Hogwarts in September.
Aberforth does not like having John's schooling taken out of his hands in this manner, but he and Elizabeth could never afford to send him to any boarding school, let alone Hogwarts. Elizabeth is overjoyed, while John is intrigued at the idea of a boarding school, 'like the squire's sons go to'. And so the family travels to London, where Albus takes them shopping and John is given his first wand (oak, twelve and a half inches, dragon heartstring).
They dine in the Leaky Cauldron, after which Elizabeth claims John for bed. Aberforth knows she is giving them room to talk, but he has no idea what to say to this worldly brother of his, whom everyone in London, or at least the wizarding part of it, appears to know and respect. He drinks deeply of his butterbeer and lets Albus speak instead.
Albus talks of his travel plans, which begin, despite the exotic destinations, to sound suspiciously like work to Aberforth. He talks of his hopes for the future. He has been offered a teaching job at Hogwarts, and he should like to accept, "although not until John has left; I should think it would be terribly embarrassing for the poor boy to have his uncle as a professor." He sips his beer, which Aberforth can't help suspecting was chosen out of kindness to them, for surely he must be accustomed to fine wines and brandies now. "I'd like to know John better," he says suddenly. "I'd like to know you all better, in fact."
Aberforth lowers his gaze. He knows he should feel the same; they are brothers, each the other's only relation beyond a few distant cousins of the Black lineage. But they left one another so far behind all those years ago. He is curious about Albus's life. He would even go so far as to say that he respects Albus more than anyone else he knows - but he is not interested in knowing him better.
When Albus receives no response, he puts down his glass. "I hope you don't object to my attempts to set John along the path to fame and fortune?"
Aberforth is not fooled by the whimsy. "No, I'm-" grateful, he should say, but he can't, quite. "Pleased," he amends.
"It is the opportunity you and I never had, you see." Albus smiles wistfully. "We had to fight so ferociously, just to survive. I vowed I would not let it happen again. I'm grateful to have been given the chance to redeem myself."
Where you failed with me, thinks Aberforth. But I was happy. The thought rises from nowhere and floods him with an emotion that defies identification. To cover his confusion, he says, "John's a good lad. He'll work hard at Hogwarts."
"I'm sure he will," says Albus. "Although I hope he'll have fun, too. One should have fun at school, I think, with one's friends." This time, his smile takes ten years off him, and Aberforth responds, thinking of Charlie, George and Alfie.
Their memory is tarnished now. When he learned to Apparate, he began returning to London at odd hours to search for them. He never found Alfie or Charlie, but he came upon George once, or, more accurately, was come upon by George, who knocked him down with a view to robbing him. Aberforth was so shocked that, after Stunning him, he emptied his purse at George's feet and left him there, stinking of gin, and with rags tied to his feet for shoes. Aberforth would never have recognised him if he hadn't cherished his memories of the chipper boy who had once enthralled them with tales of his father's daring exploits. That was the last time he went back, and it is unlikely that any of them are still alive, caught in a system that gave them just enough to survive, but never enough to claw their way out of the mire.
"Nicolas and Perenelle would love to see you, you know," Albus says during the farewell exchange of hands. "If I might beg a favour...it would mean a great deal if you could visit them occasionally whilst I am travelling. They're neither of them young any more."
That, Aberforth feels, is an understatement. He agrees, mostly by omission, to go and see them. But after he and Elizabeth arrive home, it seems pointless to leave again, especially as John's departure is imminent.
v
Once John becomes accustomed to the sheer number of people at Hogwarts he does, as Aberforth predicted, work hard. He is an excellent potion-maker, talented at transfiguration, and passably good at most other subjects.
Having achieved (or having allowed Albus to achieve) her ambition for her son, Elizabeth is lost without him at home. She volunteers her services at the Hotspur, overseeing the cooking and working in the vegetable garden. Since her uncle refuses to let her work for free, they are better off than before, although no amount of guineas could fill the hole left by John. To work off her frustration, she sends him small amounts of cash, wrapped in long letters. "Those wizard children mustn't think we're poor," she tells Aberforth defensively whenever he catches her with the owl, and he has not the heart to point out that John can do nothing with Muggle money while he is at school .
In July 1914, John leaves Hogwarts for an apothecary's shop on the outskirts of Alnwick, and Austria-Hungary declares war on Serbia. A week later, Britain declares war on Germany, and half of Europe is at war. John enlists promptly and, after a short period of training, is sent to France.
Aberforth is torn: John is a wizard, and wizards have no business interfering in Muggle wars. And yet, Aberforth himself has carried on a kind of half existence, straddling the two worlds. His life has been a quiet one, his acquaintances mainly Muggles, but it has not been ordinary. Perhaps he does owe the Muggle world something - but he does not see why John should pay the debt.
Once John has left, however, there is nothing to do but wait. Like the rest of England, Aberforth and Elizabeth follow developments in the news avidly; Aberforth even subscribes to the Prophet. John writes to them, of course, but after the first eager epistles, his letters are brief and cold, as if he has left out everything that he wanted to say. Struggling to read the laconic scrawl, Aberforth is tempted to Apparate to the Front to learn what his son is going through, and to protect him. But it would not do. He learned long ago, when searching for his friends from the workhouse, that wizarding tricks do not help with these kinds of Muggle problems.
Albus writes, too, and his letters are much more informative than John's. Caught in Vienna when the troubles begin, he escapes some months later and volunteers for the wizarding organisation working with the Muggles to bring about peace.
This war is an evil thing, he writes in 1916, a disgusting travesty of honour. Our generals drink wine and talk of glory behind closed doors, and send our boys (for they are only children, so many of them!) to die like floundering cattle in fields flooded with mud. Our government says we must save brave little Belgium and poor, ravaged France from the grip of the invaders, and all the while sends soldiers to invade yet more places! My dear brother, I wish I could allay your fears, but I know you prefer truth to empty promises. We must trust to Fate to send John home to you and Elizabeth.
The letter is delivered by a bird that Aberforth, after some hesitant research and a nasty moment with a pile of ash, identifies as a phoenix. ("I must beg you to look after Fawkes for me for a little while. I shall be travelling overseas, and he is too spectacular to keep me company, at least on his good days.")
After his initial shock, Aberforth is fascinated by Fawkes's transformations (and how like Albus to name the bird after one of England's most famous insurrectionists). When he soars into the sky and circles the castle at Alnwick, Aberforth is reminded of Kraken taking his last, lonely flights. And every time he reappears, reborn from his own ashes, Aberforth remembers that nasty line in Albus's letter, "floundering cattle in fields flooded with mud," and he sends up a brief prayer to the God in which Elizabeth, at least, believes unreservedly. Bring my son home safely.
vi
God, or Fate, or John himself, complies. John is quieter than before the war, and bitter, but there is nothing physically wrong with him apart from superficial shrapnel wounds. He insists that they amount to nothing. "You ought to have seen the other fellows, Father."
Restless at home, it is barely three days before he goes to the Apothecary to beg for his old job. He is lucky: the girl who replaced him is getting married, and leaving anyway.
Once John starts work again, both Aberforth and Elizabeth notice an improvement. His sleep is quieter, his demeanour less volatile; it is as if the rhythm and rites of potion-making soothe the chaos in his mind. He dislikes the freedom of weekends, and often works seven days a week to keep his memories at bay.
Elizabeth dies in 1936. When the end comes, Aberforth is almost relieved. He is over ninety, and it has been painful to see his wife, more than twenty years his junior, fall victim to the ravages of age so quickly.
Shortly afterwards, John accepts a generous donation from Albus ("Let us call it an accumulation of gifts from a fond godfather.") and opens an apothecary's shop in Hogsmeade. He soon writes to urge Aberforth to give up the Hotspur, which they inherited a decade earlier from Elizabeth's uncle, and buy the Hog's Head, a run-down pub in the village.
Aberforth does not like the idea at first. He likes living among Muggles, most of whom know nothing about his famous, multi-talented brother.
But then war breaks out, and the dark wizard Grindelwald's hold on Central Europe looks increasingly ominous. Albus adds his pleas to John's, and Aberforth, who is worried about the effect of another war on his son, capitulates. With Albus teaching up at the school, they are living near one another for the first time in nearly a hundred years. However, the brothers rarely take advantage of their proximity to visit one another.
The Second World War is an odd time. People in the wizarding world feel threatened on two fronts: from Nazi Germany, and from Grindelwald's Greater Prussian Wizarding Federation, which is expanding at an alarming rate. The two overlap substantially, of course, but there is no question as to which plays more heavily on wizarding minds.
John does not have a good war. Hogsmeade is untroubled by air raids, but the headlines in the papers are inescapable. He often works well into the night, and falls asleep beside his cauldron, so that if he is woken by bad dreams he can continue where he left off. He takes his tea at the Hog's Head, but if there are too many customers, he retires to one of the private rooms upstairs, and leaves with shadowed eyes.
The Ministry of Magic appears incapable of doing anything, either to combat Grindelwald's rise abroad or to help wizards manage under difficult conditions at home. There are angry mutterings in the recesses of the Hog's Head. While wartime Britain is pulling together, wizarding Britain is on the verge of mutiny - a mutiny which is avoided when Albus takes matters into his own hands. In 1944, Grindelwald's power is broken; he is tried and executed by his countrymen, and Albus Dumbledore becomes the most famous wizard in the world. The Allies begin to overpower the Nazis at almost the same time (which may be, but is probably not, a coincidence), and then there is peace.
vii
Aberforth finds that the Hog's Head suits him. The clientele comprises a collection of misfits who are happy to leave him alone if he returns the favour. Rationing obviates the need to concoct any meal more sophisticated than stews enhanced with herbs grown in the garden. On a whim, Aberforth buys some goats and grazes them on rough ground outside the village. When one of them gets too weak, it goes into the stew. None of this is legal, but Aberforth is not interested in the law, and his customers do not complain when there is so little meat to go round.
Albus, meanwhile, is the most popular wizard in Britain. He is approached on several occasions, by both the Ministry of Magic and laymen, to take up a position in the Ministry, and he always refuses. He desires a quiet life, he says, and Hogwarts provides quite enough excitement for an old man.
But there is a period when he seems to waver. A mysterious fellow called Lord Voldemort has emerged on the political scene. His name is only spoken in whispers, but the whisperers say that he is styling himself as the saviour of wizards. The old blood is dying out; he cites a rise in the number of squibs, a figure that may or may not be accurate, to illustrate his point. No one knows what he looks like, although he is rumoured to be tall and handsome. He is also rumoured to be a great wizard, with strange powers gleaned from extensive studies in the dark arts. Soon, everyone is talking about Lord Voldemort, and many people are manoeuvring to meet him.
For the first time, Albus talks to the men from the Ministry. The current minister, Edgar Pokeby, has been in office since the end of the war, and seems keen to step down. He has no appetite for the new challenges that he foresees in Lord Voldemort and his enticing claims.
They never discover who breaks the story about the goats to the Daily Prophet. Aberforth doesn't much care; he has been an obscurity all his life, and he will no doubt remain so once the furore dies down. It is clear that the story is angled at Albus's political ambitions, such as they might have been, rather than at Aberforth himself. He is painted as Albus's rather dimwitted, neglected brother - repulsive, of course, since he apparently indulges in bestiality, but the Prophet implies that this kind of behaviour is somehow Albus's fault. Readers flock to the Hog's Head to gawk at him for a while, but that is good for business, and Aberforth is used to managing unruly customers.
It gets more serious when the Owl arrives from the Ministry of Magic. Albus, who has so far supported Aberforth's decision to ignore the story, now changes his position. If he does not defend himself to the Wizengamot against this ridiculous charge, everyone will believe him guilty. Does he want to be 'that man who had carnal relations with a goat' for the rest of his life?
Aberforth is uninterested. Let the Ministry do what they like; things will blow over, and as if anyone really cares what an old man does with his livestock.
Albus is furious. He travels to London to defend the charge personally, although without Aberforth's presence his gesture is patently futile. He pays the fine himself, and then returns to Hogwarts and does not visit Aberforth for eight years.
viii
One Saturday in 1965, Filius Flitwick, one of the professors from the school, hurries into the pub, gasping something about John and the shop.
Age has made Aberforth slower than ever, but something about Flitwick's face tells him to hurry. John's shop is on a corner of the main street, and as Aberforth emerges from the lane that leads to the Hog's Head, he sees a small crowd gathered on the pavement - a mixture of students and locals. There is shouting, although it dissipates as he draws near.
John is curled up in front of the shattered apothecary window, his robes wrapped around him like a shroud, his hands protecting his head. On the ground around him are several stones.
As Aberforth reaches the crowd, someone on the other side of it calls, "Tarantallegra!" John rises to his feet like a marionette and begins hopping about awkwardly, despite the fact that his teeth are bared, and tears are running freely down his cheeks. There is scattered laughter, but the people closest to Aberforth begin to edge away.
Aberforth pushes to the front. The man who cast the spell, a burly fellow who works in the post office, is still holding out his wand, laughing. In seconds, Aberforth has seized it; it is flexible, but not flexible enough, and it snaps with a loud crack. John stops dancing instantly, while the perpetrator stares disbelievingly.
"You can't do that!"
Aberforth ignores him. John has turned to the window and is leaning against it, his hands covering his eyes. Someone gets there before him: a girl, one of the barmaids at the Three Broomsticks, just across the way. "Come on, love," she urges him gently. "Come inside."
He starts to follow them, but another voice calls out, "He's a Mudblood! He shouldn't be here. This is wizarding ground."
Aberforth turns slowly. "And what," he asks the mob in general, "has he ever done to you?"
A lad pushes forward, one of the students, all black hair and flushed cheeks. "You're a blood traitor. Why couldn't you marry one of your own kind, instead of bringing filth like him into the world?"
There are mutters of agreement, but all the while people have been slipping away, leaving a core group of some ten agitators.
"Lord Voldemort says we must protect wizarding blood!" calls the student, his eyes alight with zeal. "The only way to protect ourselves is to remain pure; our blood's been diluted too much already by the likes of you."
Aberforth's initial fury has faded, leaving him facing the crowd uncertainly. He has never spoken in front of a large group of people before; in the pub, he even uses a gong instead of calling last orders.
But the boy's friend is nudging him; Professor Flitwick is hurrying down the street, and he will not miss them with so few people around. They race off in the other direction as Flitwick arrives, panting, "Disgusting behaviour...should be ashamed...so sorry." He waves his arms dismissively, and the remaining bystanders disperse. Aberforth gives him a nod of thanks, and then turns into the shop.
ix
John does not give up his business, but he hides behind it more than ever before. Aberforth takes to dropping in every morning, and often finds him slumped over his desk with alembics bubbling nearby. He wonders why John has never taken his own potions, which would ensure a good night's sleep and peace of mind. But it does not seem a good idea to suggest that now.
The barmaid from the Leaky Cauldron, Rosmerta, takes John his lunch; this Aberforth discovers when he drops round early one afternoon and finds her still here, buying some lovage to try in a new cocktail that they've been discussing. She is good with him; she teases him gently, even flirts a little; and when she leaves, he turns to his father with bright eyes, although his mood sours quickly. Still, he recovers better than Aberforth hoped on the day of the attack.
The mood in the Hog's Head is restless. There have been several murders, all in remote parts of the country apart from one high-profile case in London. The victims were all Muggle-born, making the implications of the mysterious Lord Voldemort's policies horribly clear. Customers discuss the situation in low voices, at least until the ale takes hold, and there are several violent arguments between opposing factions. Aberforth listens more attentively than he has ever done. John must not be hurt again.
Several months after the attack, the man from the post office visits the Hog's Head. He and his friends order food and double pints all round, and watch Aberforth knowingly as he clunks down the ales.
The confrontation is not long in coming. Aberforth hears John's name spoken; when he looks up, they are all grinning at him. "Shouldn'a married a dirty Muggle, should ya?" the man from the post office calls, and that is all it takes for Aberforth to overturn a mug of butterbeer over his head and herd everyone outside. The Hog's Head is closed until further notice.
Albus comes to call a couple of weeks later. Although it is nearly a decade since they have seen one another, he lets himself in, pours them both a butterbeer, and joins Aberforth in the back room. They drink for a while, the silence marred only by the clink of their glasses on the stained pine table.
Albus sets down another drink for each of them. "John is a good man," he says quietly. "He has led a blameless life, and a difficult one. He didn't deserve that debacle in the main street."
"Oh, shut up." Aberforth looks up finally, his eyes red through lack of sleep. "If that's all you've come to say, then get out. I don't want to hear it. Shut up."
"I am so sorry," Albus says, before complying with Aberforth's demand.
Halfway through the third pint, he tries again. "An organisation is being established, a clandestine one. It will liaise with the Ministry of Magic, but will remain independent." He pauses, but Aberforth gives no sign of having heard. "Its aim is to counteract the influence of Lord Voldemort."
Aberforth does look up at this, but hides his face quickly in his butterbeer.
"You and I are old men now," says Albus idly, although Aberforth knows quite well that the words are carefully chosen. "We cannot fight with our fists the way we used to. We must be subtle."
Has Albus ever been unsubtle? Aberforth wonders. But his curiosity is piqued. "What - what can we do, then?" Another gulp of butterbeer.
"Re-open the Hog's Head," says Albus promptly. "Allow us to use it as a base for meetings. Cultivate your customers, people with their ear to the ground. Tell us of any suspicious behaviour."
"You want me to spy on my customers?" asks Aberforth with a curl of his lip.
"Only those who are in the pay of Lord Voldemort," says Albus, and to that, Aberforth has no answer.
x
The first meeting takes place a week later, in the dusty upstairs parlour after closing time. Aberforth serves everyone drinks before retiring to the window seat. There are twelve people present, and most of the conversation centres on other potential recruits. Then they move onto potential recruits for Lord Voldemort. Names are mentioned, and people are assigned to research or surveillance tasks.
The organisation is named the Order of the Phoenix because, as Albus remarks, the wizarding world can be reborn in more ways than one.
Afterwards, some people shake Aberforth's hand and thank him for accommodating them. He does not know how to respond to this, and prefers the more diffident visitors who offer him awkward smiles or nods as they hurry downstairs.
Albus helps him clear up, and then pours them both a small firewhisky. "That went rather well, I thought," he says, stretching his legs out under the table. He holds his glass aloft. "To the future!"
Aberforth grunts. The other members look an untried lot to him, although perhaps that is the consequence of his being a good eighty years older than most of them. "How do you stand it?" he asks suddenly.
"What?"
"Being around all those young people. Children. Most of the professors are half your age, and I reckon everyone here tonight was under forty. You're closer to a hundred and forty."
Albus smiles. "Ah, but it's being around all those bright young things that keeps me young, I suspect. Perhaps you should try it."
Aberforth does not dignify that with an answer. They down their whisky in silence; then Albus taps him lightly on the shoulder, and goes downstairs. Aberforth watches him walk down the lane until his silhouette melts into the darkness around him. About now, he will be passing John's apothecary shop. In fifteen minutes, he will be walking up the driveway to the school where John lived for seven years, and which is now inhabited by hundreds of other children who know little of war or politics or blood.
To the future? he wonders, and closes the curtains.