Springfic: "Scenes from the Hog’s Head Inn" (2/2) for fugacious_love
Title: Scenes from the Hog’s Head Inn (2/2)
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.
Part 1
Aberforth had never liked Mundungus Fletcher. It didn’t help that Mundungus had a habit of paying his tab with leprechaun gold, but Aberforth could overlook such trivial matters. No, the real trouble was that Mundungus hadn’t a lick of sense in his bulbous head, and Aberforth couldn’t abide by people with no common sense. Sadly, like most fools, Mundungus talked too much. On a frigid Hogsmeade weekend in 1975, his big mouth led him into two separate offenses.
He had taken up with two students, namely a young James Potter and Sirius Black, and Aberforth disapproved of the relationship. He would clearly lead them into more trouble than any fifth year students had a right to cause-and this pair didn’t need any help. The boys, always eager for mischief, sat at Mundungus Fletcher’s table in the Hog’s Head, lapping up everything he had to say. This could not bode well in Aberforth’s opinion, and he listened carefully to prepare himself for whatever ideas the troublesome boys would discover.
However, Mundungus Fletcher’s second and greatest offense was in his choice of subject matter as he regaled the boys with tales of his wickedness. Aberforth listened to the man’s appalling anecdote, and the more he heard the angrier he became. By the time Mundungus hit his punch line, Aberforth was ready to fly into a rage.
“And then I says to her, I says, ‘That must be some tasty cockroach cluster’-and then!” Mundungus roared in laughter, his cheeks flushed. “She picks it up and pops it right in her mouth! The look on her face!”
The boys groaned in appreciative laughter. James Potter pulled a face of simultaneous disgust and delight. Sirius Black held a hand over his ribs. Mundungus preened in all the attention, clearly feeling it was an easy joke.
“Enough,” said Aberforth as he stormed to the front of the bar. His voice was low, but his hands shook in suppressed fury. “I don’t want to hear any more about the Gudgeon girl, understand?”
Abruptly, Sirius Black’s laughter ended in a choke. He whipped his head from Mundungus to Aberforth, his eyes only needing to glance at Aberforth’s trembling hands. “Hey, Dung,” he began carefully, squeezing the shoulder of the man’s filthy coat. “Why don’t you tell us about the-”
Mundungus shrugged off Sirius’s hand, ignoring the change of subject. “Relax, Ab! We was only having a bit of fun!” Mundungus protested. “It’s not like it hurt nothing-she’s dumb as a sack of rocks!”
Aberforth growled, reaching for his wand. “I’m warning you.”
“Really, though, there’s nothing in her head. It’s not like she’d remember in five minutes-you can’t hurt what hasn’t got feelings.”
Incoherent fury filled Aberforth’s mind. That was the tipping point. He felt at once nauseous, powerful, and ruthless. He aimed his wand with deadly precision at Mundungus Fletcher and blasted him through the front door.
Mundungus landed squarely on his face in the slush covered lane. He turned to look back at Aberforth, covered in muck, his nose bleeding, and his eyes wide in shock. “Oi, it’s no need for the bum’s rush!” he cried.
Aberforth gave his head a violent shake. “Banned,” he said, struggling to bring language to his wrath. “You are banned. For life.”
“Now, don’t be like that,” Mundungus pleaded. “I’ve always been a good customer, ain’t I? Only stiffed you a few times, didn’t I? Let’s not throw all that away over some stupid little girl that-”
Aberforth hurled a hex at him like a bolt of lightning. Mundungus Fletcher shrieked and Apparated away, leaving the passersby staring at Aberforth in surprise. His shoulders heaved as he gasped for breath, meeting the eyes of all around him with a glare. James Potter and Sirius Black looked at him warily through the pub window.
When he came back inside, Aberforth retreated behind the bar. He vigorously wiped one of his glasses and glowered at anyone who met his eye. People gawked at him, but he knew from experience that they would soon lose interest and leave him be. Within the space of fifteen minutes, the Hog’s Head had returned to its usual state, though Aberforth carried his anger much longer. When Sirius Black approached him, he was in no mood to have a discussion.
“Who were you thinking about?” Sirius asked, his voice obnoxious and cloying.
Pushing past the boy, Aberforth walked around the counter and tried to ignore him, but Sirius merely followed him across the room. Aberforth huffed. “Leave me alone. I wasn’t thinking about anyone.”
The boy didn’t look persuaded. “Well, I doubt you’d ever met the Gudgeon girl-and you had to have known someone like that to get so upset. I was just wondering who it was.”
“It’s none of your business,” Aberforth growled.
Sirius nodded. “That’s fair.” He hesitated. “Listen, I’m sorry I laughed at Dung’s story. I know an apology doesn’t mean much, but… Well, I’m sorry all the same. That’s all I wanted to say.”
If he’d been expecting Sirius to say anything, it wouldn’t have been an apology. No doubt it was only to make the boy feel better about himself. He couldn’t believe that anyone as selfish as Sirius Black would be sincere. Aberforth narrowed his eyes and pointed to the door. “You’d better get out before I ban you, too,” he warned.
“Okay then,” Sirius said with an easy wave. “I’ll see you on our next Hogsmeade weekend. I won’t bring Mundungus next time-you’ll have nothing to worry about!” He joined James Potter and left the Hog’s Head Inn, leaving Aberforth to stew over the horrific possibilities of his next encounter with the boy.
***
An uneasiness had settled over the country in the spring of 1997. It wasn’t caused by the unseasonably cold weather or the unnatural fog of spawning Dementors in the area-though this certainly didn’t help morale. Aberforth’s disquiet grew not from the return of the Dark Lord, but from the way people latched onto a sixteen-year-old boy as their savior. Of course, many people still believed the Prophet’s old story that Harry Potter was cracked. Neither scenario brought Aberforth any comfort.
“But the Potter lad-he’s the one who’ll stop him,” whispered one woman to another. “Did it before, didn’t he?” Aberforth passed them as he walked down High Street on his way home.
“I don’t know about that. I heard that Harry Potter was doing dark magic of his own,” replied the second woman. “They say he sliced a student open just the other day-nearly killed him.”
“Hogsmeade is one of the safest places in the country, as it’s so close to both Dumbledore and Potter. I can’t imagine any place more secure-and I’m staying put,” said a man standing in front of the Post Office. His companion nodded eagerly.
“We’re on the brink of a revolution,” said an excited youth outside of the Three Broomsticks. “Everything will change-you’ll see.” Rosmerta looked troubled, but made no reply as she opened her doors for the night.
As Aberforth rounded the corner towards the Hog’s Head, he caught the familiar slurred tone of Mundungus Fletcher coming from the deep shadows in the alley. “Goblin made, that is. Up-market. Belonged to one of the richest families in the country. I might let it go for-”
“I told you, Dung, I’ve only got a couple of Galleons,” came the exasperated reply of a customer. “Do we have a deal or not?”
“What exactly are you doing here?” Aberforth asked in a ringing voice as he strolled into the alley. Mundungus had a tarp covered with a jumble of objects, which he tried to conceal as Aberforth approached. The potential customer, spooked by Aberforth’s sudden appearance, fled down the other end of the alleyway.
“Aw, what did you go and do that for?” moaned Mundungus.
“You know you’re banned from the Hog’s Head,” Aberforth said.
Mundungus rolled his eyes. “I’m not in it now, am I? Can’t cut a guy a break, can you? Can’t let a man make an honest living-you’re out to keep me down!”
“There’s nothing honest about your living,” Aberforth pointed out. “The alley belongs to the Inn-where you’re banned. Pack your junk and get out.”
Mundungus huffed. “All right, all right. Just give a body a minute to gather the merchandise, will you?”
“Where’d you even get this stuff?” Aberforth asked as he sidled up to the items. “Or do I even want to know?”
“Hey now, these are all legitimate, quality items. I’m on the up and up-hey, put that back!” Mundungus protested.
Aberforth frowned at the ornate chalice in his hands. It was engraved with the names of Orion and Walburga Black. He looked back at the pile on the tarp. Everything there came from the family of Sirius Black. “Stealing from a dead man, Fletcher?” It didn’t surprise him.
“Don’t be that way. It’s not like they’re missing it,” Mundungus reasoned. “Besides, Sirius wouldn’t care. Hated all this stuff, didn’t he? He wouldn’t mind me making a little something from it. A man’s got to profit somehow.”
His words held a ring of truth. Sirius never held any reverence for his family. Albus said that he’d tossed out all manner of things like this over the last year without batting an eye. For all Aberforth knew, Sirius might have given Mundungus his blessing when he was alive. Aberforth tossed the chalice back among the other artifacts, which all carried the stain of neglect.
It seemed strange that Sirius had only died months ago. It felt longer. His death had been far easier to believe than his innocence.
Aberforth started to turn away when an object at the edge of the tarp caught his eye. A small, nondescript mirror glinted in the dull light. For all the times he’d seen it in the hands of a young Sirius Black, Aberforth didn’t recognize it immediately, but after a moment its significance dawned on him.
“How much for that little mirror?” Aberforth asked casually.
“Good eye you’ve got there,” Mundungus gloated. “One of the best pieces in the whole lot, that is. Look at the craftsmanship, the detail-”
“I’ll give you a Sickle.”
“Oi!” Mundungus complained. “A lonely little Sickle? You wound me! It’s worth four Sickles at the least!”
“That’s all I’m offering. Take it or leave it.” Aberforth gave his most intimidating glare until Mundungus backed off.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, wiping his greasy brow. “All right, all right, I’ll let you have it. You’re robbing me blind, you know.”
They made the exchange and Aberforth tucked the mirror into his pocket. “Now get off my property,” he told Mundungus as he opened the door to the Inn. He didn’t linger to see if Mundungus would comply, and hung a closed sign in his window.
As he headed up the stairs behind the bar, Aberforth’s eyes swept over the grotesque dead hand of his brother at the top of the banister. “You need to get a glove. No one wants to look at that thing,” he said by way of a greeting.
Albus smiled. “When you weren’t here, I took the liberty of letting myself inside. I feared you might have forgotten about my visit tonight.”
“No, I didn’t forget. I just got tied up downstairs,” Aberforth said. “Shopping.”
“Shopping?” repeated Albus in disbelief. “You went shopping? For pleasure? What did you purchase?”
In response, Aberforth set the mirror down on the table. “I’m guessing you know who used to own this.”
Albus picked up the mirror to study it closely. “Ah yes,” he sighed. “I always admired the enchantment on these. Very clever. James and Sirius were quite the inventors. You do know that it’s one of a set, I presume?”
“Yeah, but there’s no telling where the other one is now. Who knows where Mundungus Fletcher might have sold it.” Aberforth shrugged. “I don’t know why I bought it. Useless, really.”
Albus gave him a serene sort of smile. “You never know,” he said cryptically.
“Right.” Aberforth rolled his eyes. He’d long accepted that spending time with Albus meant a certain amount of tolerance for his secretive ways.
Feeling generous, Aberforth went to get some food. He’d rather deal with the trivial tonight. “I hope you realize that your precious Puddlemere United got walloped last weekend,” he teased. “It wasn’t even a close match.”
“Much to my everlasting shame,” Albus quipped.
Though neither brother made any outward signs of affection, they sat together long into the night. They talked about everything and nothing. They wouldn’t have the chance to speak that way again.
***
“I am growing concerned about this new movement rising up around Tom Riddle-Lord Voldemort, they’re calling him.” Albus Dumbledore glanced out the window to the overcast October afternoon. “Every day he gains support from all corners of our world.”
Aberforth crossed his arms and stared at his brother, still unsure as to why Albus was standing in his living room. They hadn’t spoken to each other in years. “And how is this my business?”
“They’re too volatile,” Albus explained. “I fear that we’re headed to war.”
Stony silence stretched between the two brothers. Aberforth’s expression made no secret of his hostility and Albus paled.
“I am aware that the last time we faced a war, I failed to act quickly enough. Many died while I… procrastinated.” Albus grimaced and closed his eyes. “I wish to rectify that mistake during this conflict.”
Aberforth nodded and kept his voice icy. “What’s your grand idea this time?”
“I shall create a secret organization dedicated to fight this Voldemort,” Albus said. “We cannot sit idly by as he takes over the world.”
“Right. You see the threat of war, and your first instinct is to give the enemy a hit-list. That’s what it will be.” Aberforth hoped his words stung.
Albus’s expression hardened. “I’d prefer to think of it as a resistance.”
“Yeah, and what risks will these hypothetical resistors take on your behalf? How many of them do you expect to die at your orders?” Aberforth spat.
“In a war, we must all expect peril and loss.” Albus’s tone lost its evenness. He clenched his fists. “That cannot be avoided. However, I would like to save lives where I can. I shall take considerable risks myself.”
“Right,” Aberforth mocked. “Of course.”
“What would you have me do?” Albus snapped. “I know Tom Riddle. I may know him better than most. I cannot ignore the threat he poses. Trust me when I say that Riddle is dangerous.”
Aberforth narrowed his eyes. “How could I ever trust you? There’s no coming back from what you did.” He knew it was an underhanded blow, but he didn’t care.
“I don’t know how long I can keep apologizing!” Albus threw his hands in the air. “We both know that no matter what I do, I can never change what happened. I can never bring back our sister. But I’m not talking about the past. I’m looking at the menace looming before our world, and I’m trying to stop it. Can’t you see that this threat is bigger than all of us?”
“I was never one to put the big picture above the small one,” Aberforth said. “I never much cared for the Greater Good.”
Albus’s eyes flashed dangerously before he could control his anger. He slowly exhaled before he spoke again. “I’m trying to stop a war. I want to save lives. Would you at least consider joining me?” Albus pleaded.
Not knowing how to reply, Aberforth moved away towards the window. He supposed he was being petulant, but he knew no other way to respond to his brother.
“Look,” Albus sighed. “When you got the Hog’s Head and came to Hogsmeade, I thought that perhaps we could have a chance to spend more time with each other. I’d hoped to repair some of this animosity between us. Clearly I was wrong about that, but whatever you feel towards me, I hope you will not stand idly by and let another dark wizard come to power.”
Aberforth kept his gaze out the window, unable to look at his brother. Perhaps it was time to reconsider their estrangement. After all, Albus was all the family he had. When he spoke again, Aberforth considered his words very carefully. “People say things here. At the Hog’s Head. Everyone knows that I turn my head to the shady dealings inside my Inn. They get comfortable here, then careless.” He cleared his throat. “I might-I could get you information.”
“That would be very beneficial.” Albus spoke with a guarded sort of hope.
Aberforth nodded. “But I want one thing perfectly clear: I do this my way. I decide how to run my business. I decide what you need to know. That’s all I’ll do for you. Understand?”
“I suppose that’s the most I could hope for,” Albus replied. He strode toward the window with his hand outstretched, ready to shake on the agreement.
Aberforth merely looked at his brother’s hand. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not binding me in a verbal contract spell. I won’t fall for it.”
Albus shrugged. “It was worth a try.” For an instant, it seemed like Albus might give him a genuine smile.
A flurry of motion out the window drew both brothers’ eyes to the street below.
Two black headed boys ran through the lane beside the Hog’s Head, giggling loudly. One boy paused under Aberforth’s window while the other ran ahead.
“Ah, students of mine,” Albus supplied, looking down with a fond expression. “This one is Sirius Black, and the other was James Potter. Clever boys, with a knack for mischief. You must forgive them; it’s their first Hogsmeade weekend. I imagine you’ll see quite a bit of them in the upcoming years.”
Sirius Black milled around beneath the window, looking intently into a small nondescript mirror in his hand. After a moment the boy barked in laughter and sprinted back towards High Street like a mad thing, yelling nonsense words as he went.
Aberforth wondered if he’d ever been as fully and unflinchingly young as the boys running around Hogsmeade that morning. Somehow he doubted it. The very idea made him tired. Shaking his head, Aberforth sincerely hoped he wouldn’t see any more of these boys than was absolutely necessary.
***
“T’ peace!” slurred a squat little man, sloshing his glass of mead.
“Peace!” roared his companions as they clinked their dirty glasses.
Aberforth had his hands full with this group. After camping out at the end of the bar, the wizards raised toast after toast until their words came out in a drunken jumble. It had been an entire year since the attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom, and everyone seemed to finally accept that the danger had truly passed. These blokes meant to celebrate the occasion. Aberforth supposed he ought to appreciate the business, but he still resented the way they kept him hopping all night. He certainly felt no desire to celebrate when so many Death Eaters still walked free.
Remus Lupin was not a celebrator. He slipped into the Hog’s Head that December evening to order a pint, casting a longing glance at the merry-makers but making no comment. Drawing no attention to himself, he nursed his drink by the fire and looked glad for the meager warmth. Hours passed, customers came and went, and he sat unmoving in the corner. Lupin did such a good job at feigning invisibility that Aberforth didn’t even realize he was still there until closing the door at the end of the night.
“Are you planning on renting a room upstairs?” Aberforth asked, his hand on the deadbolt. “Or do you want one more for the road?”
Lupin shook his head and shuffled to the door. “Can’t afford either.”
Aberforth turned the lock and sealed it with his wand, moving back towards the bar. “What do you want?” he grumbled. This would come straight out of his pocket, and Aberforth hated taking a loss.
“I don’t need charity,” Lupin said.
“Like hell you don’t,” muttered Aberforth. Any way you cut it, Lupin looked haggard. Shaking his head, he set a pair of empty glasses on the bar. “Now what do you want? I won’t ask you again, boy.”
Lupin pulled the corners of his lips up in a pained smile. “No thank you.”
“Stubborn fool.” Aberforth poured them both generous amounts of his cheapest Firewhisky. “Now, drink.”
With a sigh of resignation, Lupin accepted. When he’d knocked back the first glass, Aberforth poured him another. “You don’t have to do this,” Lupin said.
“No, I don’t,” Aberforth agreed, finishing his own drink in a gulp.
The wind whipping around the corners of the pub made an eerie sound in the silence. Lupin studied the contents of his drink, not looking up at Aberforth, his fingers curling around the sides of the dingy glass. Aberforth wiped down the bar around him and counted the day’s receipts from his ancient wooden till. The fire started to die.
The boy looked lost.
Aberforth considered telling him that the emptiness would never go away, but that it would get better. Betrayal was never pretty. Bereavement didn’t lessen because his friends had died like heroes. He knew how a moment of horror could taint a lifetime of memories. He wanted to tell this boy that there was no use in trying to make sense of it. There was no sense. There was nothing to understand or learn-nothing but hurt. Loss came snarled and messy, full of punishment directed at the wrong people and long nights awake with nothing but a grim, discolored sort of nostalgia. Only with the relentless progression of time would it lessen-and even time left its own sort of wound. It would never stop hurting completely.
Instead he poured Lupin another drink. And then another.
“You got anywhere to go?” Aberforth asked, taking the glass away when Lupin had clearly had enough.
Lupin nodded, his eyes unfocused. “I’ve been staying with my parents.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Aberforth grunted. “You should go.”
Aberforth didn’t move. Neither did Lupin.
“It’ll be a new year soon,” Lupin sighed, his tone far away. “1983-hard to believe they won’t see it.”
Aberforth nodded. “It happens. Years change.”
“Suppose they do. Doesn’t seem like they should.” Lupin closed his eyes and leaned his forehead into his hands. “But everything changes-even if it’s just in your own head.” He let out a laugh that made Aberforth’s skin crawl. “Severus Snape teaches potions at Hogwarts, and Sirius-” Lupin’s voice broke, and both men shuddered. “Sirius Black is a Death Eater. All along.”
Aberforth felt a familiar sensation of dread and anger steal over his heart. The effect that the name of Sirius Black still had over him was shocking. For the millionth time since his imprisonment, Aberforth recalled every act of cruelty and selfishness he’d ever witnessed in the boy. He needed to convince himself that the signs had been there all along. It brought him no comfort.
He imagined that Lupin knew this process intimately.
“What an adjustment,” Lupin muttered into the heel of his palm. “It’s not right.”
“No, it’s not,” Aberforth agreed.
“Everything was lies-Sirius, Snivellus, all of it. And here I am. Best education in the wizarding world and I’m virtually unemployable.” Lupin laughed again. “And everyone else-dead. I wonder what Peter would be doing-he was lousy at his job, mind you. James could do anything-Or Lily-would she ever-” Lupin broke off into a strangled sort of laughter that sounded suspiciously like a covered sob.
Aberforth wished he were a man of eloquence. He wished he knew what to say.
Lupin lifted his head out of his hands and regained his control. “No need to be pathetic,” he chastised himself. He picked himself up off the barstool and strode purposefully to the Floo.
Aberforth watched with knowing eyes. For all his shabbiness, for his suffering and betrayal, Lupin had to maintain some form of dignity. Aberforth could understand that. If he lost his self-control, what would he have left?
Lupin vanished in a whirl of green flames. Aberforth went back to cleaning up the mess made by the celebrators earlier in the evening. He wondered if the crowd knew how hollow their toasts had been. The wizarding world might have known peace for over a year, but for those like Aberforth and Lupin, they knew that peace was never more than a stopgap.
***
In the final days of the war, no one slept easily. In the early hours before dawn, Aberforth awoke to the incessant pounding on the front door of the Hog’s Head. When he didn’t come down right away, a Patronus in the shape of an enormous dog appeared in his bedroom with the message, “It’s me.”
“Do you even know what time it is?” Aberforth asked when he opened his door a few minutes later. “What do you want?”
Sirius looked over his shoulder uneasily. “Can I come in?”
Aberforth stepped back to let the boy inside, locking the door and casting a silencing charm behind him. Sirius paced across the room at a dizzying speed.
“Ab, did you ever-have you-” Sirius sputtered. “I have a favor to ask you.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Aberforth warned. He waved his hands and stepped back from the boy. “If this is some mad plan of yours-some suicide mission-then I want no part of it, do you hear? I’ll keep tabs on my patrons and play my part, but don’t ask me to get involved.”
“Please, Ab,” Sirius begged, his eyes earnest. “I just need information. I want-I want your opinion. About your brother. He lies a lot, doesn’t he?”
Aberforth blinked. “Yes, I suppose he does,” he answered carefully, unsure of where this conversation would lead. He studied the boy as he paced in his agitated state.
There were miles of differences between Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore. Aberforth could see that now. Albus lied as easily as he exhaled, but Sirius, no matter what else he was, told the truth with his every glance. He burned with such intensity that he had no capacity for deception. Everything in his manner bespoke of a consuming fear. He was dripping in fear, drowning in it.
“What’s wrong?” asked Aberforth. “What’s Albus done?”
Sirius shook his head, but didn’t break stride. “It’s nothing-that is-I’ve come across a story-” Reaching the middle of the floor, he stopped and rounded on Aberforth. “Was your brother in love with Gellert Grindelwald?” he asked blatantly. “Did he really believe in the Greater Good?”
With a sigh, Aberforth lowered himself into a chair. “He was. He did. But that was a long time ago. Albus-”
Sirius had resumed his trek, again shaking his head. “That’s not the heart of it,” he explained. His voice held a frantic edge. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to say-” The boy turned away and ran his hands through his hair. When he turned back, his expression was tortured. “I-I only-”
Aberforth took pity on him. “Just sit down and tell me-ask me whatever you want. Just say it. I’d like to get back to bed at some point.”
He didn’t sit down, but Sirius did manage to stop pacing. He looked Aberforth directly in the eye. “You know your brother better than anyone else in the country.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aberforth hedged.
“You understand him better than most?” the boy pressed.
“Yes.”
“Right.” Sirius shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. “Would you-that is-do you think you could trust him with a secret?”
Aberforth nearly laughed in derision. “Keeping secrets is my brother’s specialty. I’d reckon he could fill a pensive or two with what he doesn’t let on.”
Sirius clenched and unclenched his hands. “But would you trust him?”
“You needn’t fear that he’s working for the other side, if that’s what you’re after.”
“No, I know that.” Sirius shook his head. “I’m not questioning his good intentions. But I’ve seen him be ruthless. I’ve seen him use people-believing that the end justifies the means. What I’m really asking is- Would you ever trust him to put the safety of a child-of a family over his own schemes?”
“Ah.”
It seemed that Sirius Black had a better measure of Albus’s true nature than he’d ever suspected.
Aberforth took a moment before he could respond. “You have to understand that I love my brother,” he said slowly. “I love him, but I see him clearly. Albus has all the best motivations. He does. But he treats people like pawns. We’ve both seen it. His plans are clever-truly-but I don’t see how they’re worth sacrificing yourself.”
Shifting his weight in the chair, Aberforth looked Sirius directly in the eye. “Of course, many would say that I can’t see past the end of my own nose,” he admitted with a shrug. “Would he betray a family for the sake of the mission? I don’t know. I don’t have any answers for you, and I’m not trying to tell you what to do. Albus will always do what he thinks is right, but I can’t tell you if that would protect these people. Would I take the chance? No.”
Sirius stared at him for a moment, seeming to process Aberforth’s words. He swept his eyes across the empty room, and Aberforth could feel his resolve forming. The sky was starting to lighten outside the window. “Thank you,” Sirius said. His voice was small, but firm. “That was exactly what I needed to hear.”
Aberforth nodded and showed the boy out the door. “Now don’t you ever wake me up again,” he grumbled. Sirius walked away in the dingy pre-dawn light, but Aberforth didn’t stay to watch him go.
Two weeks later, the world would be upside down. The Potters would die and the war would end. Eye witnesses would testify that Sirius Black murdered Peter Pettigrew and a street full of Muggle onlookers.
Sirius only laughed when they took him to Azkaban.
***
Hogsmeade had become downright unpleasant after Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. Dementors swooped across the village liked they owned the place, Aurors patrolled day and night, and wanted posters hung everywhere. On each poster, Black’s maniacal photograph from twelve years before raved on and on into eternity. For some reason the image was impossible to ignore or tune out; it caught the eye whenever it came into view. Customers were fewer these days, and residents were quieter. People became cautious when they left their homes, jumping at even the littlest noises. A general air of anxiety and despair hung over the village.
After a long business day, Aberforth was not exactly thrilled about going outside to put out his rubbish. While he didn’t relish the idea of being exposed in the dead of night with Dementors in the area, he refused to change his schedule on account of them. He made his way silently, holding his wand at the ready and keeping his eyes wide open.
A loud clanging noise drew his eye down the alleyway towards the back of Madam Puddifoot’s business. An enormous black dog was getting into Puddifoot’s bins, but strangely enough, it didn’t seem to be after the food. It had a hold on an old newspaper peeking out from under one of the lids, but the dog couldn’t pull it free.
Hoping to get back inside soon, Aberforth went about his business and filled his own bins with garbage. As he finished, he happened to glance back to the dog.
Aberforth froze.
Sirius Black stood beside the bins now. He seemed almost unrecognizable-his hair was long and matted, tattered gray prison robes hung from his emaciated frame, and his eyes bore a haunted look that Aberforth had never seen on a living face-but he was clearly Sirius Black. He lifted the lid to the rubbish bin and pulled the newspaper free, an action too ordinary for his ghastly appearance.
Aberforth held his breath. There were Aurors just a stone’s throw away at the Three Broomsticks.
He should call out, make a noise, and alert the authorities. Sirius Black was a murderer. He betrayed his friends. He walked away from his brother, and understood the cruelty in Mundungus Fletcher’s jokes. He made ridiculous phoenix t-shirts, and captivated everyone in his presence. Sirius fought for lost causes. He went in unarmed to attack a gang of Death Eaters. He saw Albus’s ruthlessness, and he could annoy Aberforth with a single glance. He adored his flying motorcycle, and he laughed when he killed twelve Muggles.
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? Somewhere in the midst of the enigma and the misinformation, there’d been a real person unrepresented by the raving man on the wanted posters or the little boy running through Hogsmeade with an enchanted mirror in his hand.
In remembrance for the boy he thought he knew, and in respect for the man he would never know, Aberforth turned away from the alley without a sound. He left the measure of Sirius Black to the world.
***
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.
Part 1
Aberforth had never liked Mundungus Fletcher. It didn’t help that Mundungus had a habit of paying his tab with leprechaun gold, but Aberforth could overlook such trivial matters. No, the real trouble was that Mundungus hadn’t a lick of sense in his bulbous head, and Aberforth couldn’t abide by people with no common sense. Sadly, like most fools, Mundungus talked too much. On a frigid Hogsmeade weekend in 1975, his big mouth led him into two separate offenses.
He had taken up with two students, namely a young James Potter and Sirius Black, and Aberforth disapproved of the relationship. He would clearly lead them into more trouble than any fifth year students had a right to cause-and this pair didn’t need any help. The boys, always eager for mischief, sat at Mundungus Fletcher’s table in the Hog’s Head, lapping up everything he had to say. This could not bode well in Aberforth’s opinion, and he listened carefully to prepare himself for whatever ideas the troublesome boys would discover.
However, Mundungus Fletcher’s second and greatest offense was in his choice of subject matter as he regaled the boys with tales of his wickedness. Aberforth listened to the man’s appalling anecdote, and the more he heard the angrier he became. By the time Mundungus hit his punch line, Aberforth was ready to fly into a rage.
“And then I says to her, I says, ‘That must be some tasty cockroach cluster’-and then!” Mundungus roared in laughter, his cheeks flushed. “She picks it up and pops it right in her mouth! The look on her face!”
The boys groaned in appreciative laughter. James Potter pulled a face of simultaneous disgust and delight. Sirius Black held a hand over his ribs. Mundungus preened in all the attention, clearly feeling it was an easy joke.
“Enough,” said Aberforth as he stormed to the front of the bar. His voice was low, but his hands shook in suppressed fury. “I don’t want to hear any more about the Gudgeon girl, understand?”
Abruptly, Sirius Black’s laughter ended in a choke. He whipped his head from Mundungus to Aberforth, his eyes only needing to glance at Aberforth’s trembling hands. “Hey, Dung,” he began carefully, squeezing the shoulder of the man’s filthy coat. “Why don’t you tell us about the-”
Mundungus shrugged off Sirius’s hand, ignoring the change of subject. “Relax, Ab! We was only having a bit of fun!” Mundungus protested. “It’s not like it hurt nothing-she’s dumb as a sack of rocks!”
Aberforth growled, reaching for his wand. “I’m warning you.”
“Really, though, there’s nothing in her head. It’s not like she’d remember in five minutes-you can’t hurt what hasn’t got feelings.”
Incoherent fury filled Aberforth’s mind. That was the tipping point. He felt at once nauseous, powerful, and ruthless. He aimed his wand with deadly precision at Mundungus Fletcher and blasted him through the front door.
Mundungus landed squarely on his face in the slush covered lane. He turned to look back at Aberforth, covered in muck, his nose bleeding, and his eyes wide in shock. “Oi, it’s no need for the bum’s rush!” he cried.
Aberforth gave his head a violent shake. “Banned,” he said, struggling to bring language to his wrath. “You are banned. For life.”
“Now, don’t be like that,” Mundungus pleaded. “I’ve always been a good customer, ain’t I? Only stiffed you a few times, didn’t I? Let’s not throw all that away over some stupid little girl that-”
Aberforth hurled a hex at him like a bolt of lightning. Mundungus Fletcher shrieked and Apparated away, leaving the passersby staring at Aberforth in surprise. His shoulders heaved as he gasped for breath, meeting the eyes of all around him with a glare. James Potter and Sirius Black looked at him warily through the pub window.
When he came back inside, Aberforth retreated behind the bar. He vigorously wiped one of his glasses and glowered at anyone who met his eye. People gawked at him, but he knew from experience that they would soon lose interest and leave him be. Within the space of fifteen minutes, the Hog’s Head had returned to its usual state, though Aberforth carried his anger much longer. When Sirius Black approached him, he was in no mood to have a discussion.
“Who were you thinking about?” Sirius asked, his voice obnoxious and cloying.
Pushing past the boy, Aberforth walked around the counter and tried to ignore him, but Sirius merely followed him across the room. Aberforth huffed. “Leave me alone. I wasn’t thinking about anyone.”
The boy didn’t look persuaded. “Well, I doubt you’d ever met the Gudgeon girl-and you had to have known someone like that to get so upset. I was just wondering who it was.”
“It’s none of your business,” Aberforth growled.
Sirius nodded. “That’s fair.” He hesitated. “Listen, I’m sorry I laughed at Dung’s story. I know an apology doesn’t mean much, but… Well, I’m sorry all the same. That’s all I wanted to say.”
If he’d been expecting Sirius to say anything, it wouldn’t have been an apology. No doubt it was only to make the boy feel better about himself. He couldn’t believe that anyone as selfish as Sirius Black would be sincere. Aberforth narrowed his eyes and pointed to the door. “You’d better get out before I ban you, too,” he warned.
“Okay then,” Sirius said with an easy wave. “I’ll see you on our next Hogsmeade weekend. I won’t bring Mundungus next time-you’ll have nothing to worry about!” He joined James Potter and left the Hog’s Head Inn, leaving Aberforth to stew over the horrific possibilities of his next encounter with the boy.
***
An uneasiness had settled over the country in the spring of 1997. It wasn’t caused by the unseasonably cold weather or the unnatural fog of spawning Dementors in the area-though this certainly didn’t help morale. Aberforth’s disquiet grew not from the return of the Dark Lord, but from the way people latched onto a sixteen-year-old boy as their savior. Of course, many people still believed the Prophet’s old story that Harry Potter was cracked. Neither scenario brought Aberforth any comfort.
“But the Potter lad-he’s the one who’ll stop him,” whispered one woman to another. “Did it before, didn’t he?” Aberforth passed them as he walked down High Street on his way home.
“I don’t know about that. I heard that Harry Potter was doing dark magic of his own,” replied the second woman. “They say he sliced a student open just the other day-nearly killed him.”
“Hogsmeade is one of the safest places in the country, as it’s so close to both Dumbledore and Potter. I can’t imagine any place more secure-and I’m staying put,” said a man standing in front of the Post Office. His companion nodded eagerly.
“We’re on the brink of a revolution,” said an excited youth outside of the Three Broomsticks. “Everything will change-you’ll see.” Rosmerta looked troubled, but made no reply as she opened her doors for the night.
As Aberforth rounded the corner towards the Hog’s Head, he caught the familiar slurred tone of Mundungus Fletcher coming from the deep shadows in the alley. “Goblin made, that is. Up-market. Belonged to one of the richest families in the country. I might let it go for-”
“I told you, Dung, I’ve only got a couple of Galleons,” came the exasperated reply of a customer. “Do we have a deal or not?”
“What exactly are you doing here?” Aberforth asked in a ringing voice as he strolled into the alley. Mundungus had a tarp covered with a jumble of objects, which he tried to conceal as Aberforth approached. The potential customer, spooked by Aberforth’s sudden appearance, fled down the other end of the alleyway.
“Aw, what did you go and do that for?” moaned Mundungus.
“You know you’re banned from the Hog’s Head,” Aberforth said.
Mundungus rolled his eyes. “I’m not in it now, am I? Can’t cut a guy a break, can you? Can’t let a man make an honest living-you’re out to keep me down!”
“There’s nothing honest about your living,” Aberforth pointed out. “The alley belongs to the Inn-where you’re banned. Pack your junk and get out.”
Mundungus huffed. “All right, all right. Just give a body a minute to gather the merchandise, will you?”
“Where’d you even get this stuff?” Aberforth asked as he sidled up to the items. “Or do I even want to know?”
“Hey now, these are all legitimate, quality items. I’m on the up and up-hey, put that back!” Mundungus protested.
Aberforth frowned at the ornate chalice in his hands. It was engraved with the names of Orion and Walburga Black. He looked back at the pile on the tarp. Everything there came from the family of Sirius Black. “Stealing from a dead man, Fletcher?” It didn’t surprise him.
“Don’t be that way. It’s not like they’re missing it,” Mundungus reasoned. “Besides, Sirius wouldn’t care. Hated all this stuff, didn’t he? He wouldn’t mind me making a little something from it. A man’s got to profit somehow.”
His words held a ring of truth. Sirius never held any reverence for his family. Albus said that he’d tossed out all manner of things like this over the last year without batting an eye. For all Aberforth knew, Sirius might have given Mundungus his blessing when he was alive. Aberforth tossed the chalice back among the other artifacts, which all carried the stain of neglect.
It seemed strange that Sirius had only died months ago. It felt longer. His death had been far easier to believe than his innocence.
Aberforth started to turn away when an object at the edge of the tarp caught his eye. A small, nondescript mirror glinted in the dull light. For all the times he’d seen it in the hands of a young Sirius Black, Aberforth didn’t recognize it immediately, but after a moment its significance dawned on him.
“How much for that little mirror?” Aberforth asked casually.
“Good eye you’ve got there,” Mundungus gloated. “One of the best pieces in the whole lot, that is. Look at the craftsmanship, the detail-”
“I’ll give you a Sickle.”
“Oi!” Mundungus complained. “A lonely little Sickle? You wound me! It’s worth four Sickles at the least!”
“That’s all I’m offering. Take it or leave it.” Aberforth gave his most intimidating glare until Mundungus backed off.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, wiping his greasy brow. “All right, all right, I’ll let you have it. You’re robbing me blind, you know.”
They made the exchange and Aberforth tucked the mirror into his pocket. “Now get off my property,” he told Mundungus as he opened the door to the Inn. He didn’t linger to see if Mundungus would comply, and hung a closed sign in his window.
As he headed up the stairs behind the bar, Aberforth’s eyes swept over the grotesque dead hand of his brother at the top of the banister. “You need to get a glove. No one wants to look at that thing,” he said by way of a greeting.
Albus smiled. “When you weren’t here, I took the liberty of letting myself inside. I feared you might have forgotten about my visit tonight.”
“No, I didn’t forget. I just got tied up downstairs,” Aberforth said. “Shopping.”
“Shopping?” repeated Albus in disbelief. “You went shopping? For pleasure? What did you purchase?”
In response, Aberforth set the mirror down on the table. “I’m guessing you know who used to own this.”
Albus picked up the mirror to study it closely. “Ah yes,” he sighed. “I always admired the enchantment on these. Very clever. James and Sirius were quite the inventors. You do know that it’s one of a set, I presume?”
“Yeah, but there’s no telling where the other one is now. Who knows where Mundungus Fletcher might have sold it.” Aberforth shrugged. “I don’t know why I bought it. Useless, really.”
Albus gave him a serene sort of smile. “You never know,” he said cryptically.
“Right.” Aberforth rolled his eyes. He’d long accepted that spending time with Albus meant a certain amount of tolerance for his secretive ways.
Feeling generous, Aberforth went to get some food. He’d rather deal with the trivial tonight. “I hope you realize that your precious Puddlemere United got walloped last weekend,” he teased. “It wasn’t even a close match.”
“Much to my everlasting shame,” Albus quipped.
Though neither brother made any outward signs of affection, they sat together long into the night. They talked about everything and nothing. They wouldn’t have the chance to speak that way again.
***
“I am growing concerned about this new movement rising up around Tom Riddle-Lord Voldemort, they’re calling him.” Albus Dumbledore glanced out the window to the overcast October afternoon. “Every day he gains support from all corners of our world.”
Aberforth crossed his arms and stared at his brother, still unsure as to why Albus was standing in his living room. They hadn’t spoken to each other in years. “And how is this my business?”
“They’re too volatile,” Albus explained. “I fear that we’re headed to war.”
Stony silence stretched between the two brothers. Aberforth’s expression made no secret of his hostility and Albus paled.
“I am aware that the last time we faced a war, I failed to act quickly enough. Many died while I… procrastinated.” Albus grimaced and closed his eyes. “I wish to rectify that mistake during this conflict.”
Aberforth nodded and kept his voice icy. “What’s your grand idea this time?”
“I shall create a secret organization dedicated to fight this Voldemort,” Albus said. “We cannot sit idly by as he takes over the world.”
“Right. You see the threat of war, and your first instinct is to give the enemy a hit-list. That’s what it will be.” Aberforth hoped his words stung.
Albus’s expression hardened. “I’d prefer to think of it as a resistance.”
“Yeah, and what risks will these hypothetical resistors take on your behalf? How many of them do you expect to die at your orders?” Aberforth spat.
“In a war, we must all expect peril and loss.” Albus’s tone lost its evenness. He clenched his fists. “That cannot be avoided. However, I would like to save lives where I can. I shall take considerable risks myself.”
“Right,” Aberforth mocked. “Of course.”
“What would you have me do?” Albus snapped. “I know Tom Riddle. I may know him better than most. I cannot ignore the threat he poses. Trust me when I say that Riddle is dangerous.”
Aberforth narrowed his eyes. “How could I ever trust you? There’s no coming back from what you did.” He knew it was an underhanded blow, but he didn’t care.
“I don’t know how long I can keep apologizing!” Albus threw his hands in the air. “We both know that no matter what I do, I can never change what happened. I can never bring back our sister. But I’m not talking about the past. I’m looking at the menace looming before our world, and I’m trying to stop it. Can’t you see that this threat is bigger than all of us?”
“I was never one to put the big picture above the small one,” Aberforth said. “I never much cared for the Greater Good.”
Albus’s eyes flashed dangerously before he could control his anger. He slowly exhaled before he spoke again. “I’m trying to stop a war. I want to save lives. Would you at least consider joining me?” Albus pleaded.
Not knowing how to reply, Aberforth moved away towards the window. He supposed he was being petulant, but he knew no other way to respond to his brother.
“Look,” Albus sighed. “When you got the Hog’s Head and came to Hogsmeade, I thought that perhaps we could have a chance to spend more time with each other. I’d hoped to repair some of this animosity between us. Clearly I was wrong about that, but whatever you feel towards me, I hope you will not stand idly by and let another dark wizard come to power.”
Aberforth kept his gaze out the window, unable to look at his brother. Perhaps it was time to reconsider their estrangement. After all, Albus was all the family he had. When he spoke again, Aberforth considered his words very carefully. “People say things here. At the Hog’s Head. Everyone knows that I turn my head to the shady dealings inside my Inn. They get comfortable here, then careless.” He cleared his throat. “I might-I could get you information.”
“That would be very beneficial.” Albus spoke with a guarded sort of hope.
Aberforth nodded. “But I want one thing perfectly clear: I do this my way. I decide how to run my business. I decide what you need to know. That’s all I’ll do for you. Understand?”
“I suppose that’s the most I could hope for,” Albus replied. He strode toward the window with his hand outstretched, ready to shake on the agreement.
Aberforth merely looked at his brother’s hand. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not binding me in a verbal contract spell. I won’t fall for it.”
Albus shrugged. “It was worth a try.” For an instant, it seemed like Albus might give him a genuine smile.
A flurry of motion out the window drew both brothers’ eyes to the street below.
Two black headed boys ran through the lane beside the Hog’s Head, giggling loudly. One boy paused under Aberforth’s window while the other ran ahead.
“Ah, students of mine,” Albus supplied, looking down with a fond expression. “This one is Sirius Black, and the other was James Potter. Clever boys, with a knack for mischief. You must forgive them; it’s their first Hogsmeade weekend. I imagine you’ll see quite a bit of them in the upcoming years.”
Sirius Black milled around beneath the window, looking intently into a small nondescript mirror in his hand. After a moment the boy barked in laughter and sprinted back towards High Street like a mad thing, yelling nonsense words as he went.
Aberforth wondered if he’d ever been as fully and unflinchingly young as the boys running around Hogsmeade that morning. Somehow he doubted it. The very idea made him tired. Shaking his head, Aberforth sincerely hoped he wouldn’t see any more of these boys than was absolutely necessary.
***
“T’ peace!” slurred a squat little man, sloshing his glass of mead.
“Peace!” roared his companions as they clinked their dirty glasses.
Aberforth had his hands full with this group. After camping out at the end of the bar, the wizards raised toast after toast until their words came out in a drunken jumble. It had been an entire year since the attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom, and everyone seemed to finally accept that the danger had truly passed. These blokes meant to celebrate the occasion. Aberforth supposed he ought to appreciate the business, but he still resented the way they kept him hopping all night. He certainly felt no desire to celebrate when so many Death Eaters still walked free.
Remus Lupin was not a celebrator. He slipped into the Hog’s Head that December evening to order a pint, casting a longing glance at the merry-makers but making no comment. Drawing no attention to himself, he nursed his drink by the fire and looked glad for the meager warmth. Hours passed, customers came and went, and he sat unmoving in the corner. Lupin did such a good job at feigning invisibility that Aberforth didn’t even realize he was still there until closing the door at the end of the night.
“Are you planning on renting a room upstairs?” Aberforth asked, his hand on the deadbolt. “Or do you want one more for the road?”
Lupin shook his head and shuffled to the door. “Can’t afford either.”
Aberforth turned the lock and sealed it with his wand, moving back towards the bar. “What do you want?” he grumbled. This would come straight out of his pocket, and Aberforth hated taking a loss.
“I don’t need charity,” Lupin said.
“Like hell you don’t,” muttered Aberforth. Any way you cut it, Lupin looked haggard. Shaking his head, he set a pair of empty glasses on the bar. “Now what do you want? I won’t ask you again, boy.”
Lupin pulled the corners of his lips up in a pained smile. “No thank you.”
“Stubborn fool.” Aberforth poured them both generous amounts of his cheapest Firewhisky. “Now, drink.”
With a sigh of resignation, Lupin accepted. When he’d knocked back the first glass, Aberforth poured him another. “You don’t have to do this,” Lupin said.
“No, I don’t,” Aberforth agreed, finishing his own drink in a gulp.
The wind whipping around the corners of the pub made an eerie sound in the silence. Lupin studied the contents of his drink, not looking up at Aberforth, his fingers curling around the sides of the dingy glass. Aberforth wiped down the bar around him and counted the day’s receipts from his ancient wooden till. The fire started to die.
The boy looked lost.
Aberforth considered telling him that the emptiness would never go away, but that it would get better. Betrayal was never pretty. Bereavement didn’t lessen because his friends had died like heroes. He knew how a moment of horror could taint a lifetime of memories. He wanted to tell this boy that there was no use in trying to make sense of it. There was no sense. There was nothing to understand or learn-nothing but hurt. Loss came snarled and messy, full of punishment directed at the wrong people and long nights awake with nothing but a grim, discolored sort of nostalgia. Only with the relentless progression of time would it lessen-and even time left its own sort of wound. It would never stop hurting completely.
Instead he poured Lupin another drink. And then another.
“You got anywhere to go?” Aberforth asked, taking the glass away when Lupin had clearly had enough.
Lupin nodded, his eyes unfocused. “I’ve been staying with my parents.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Aberforth grunted. “You should go.”
Aberforth didn’t move. Neither did Lupin.
“It’ll be a new year soon,” Lupin sighed, his tone far away. “1983-hard to believe they won’t see it.”
Aberforth nodded. “It happens. Years change.”
“Suppose they do. Doesn’t seem like they should.” Lupin closed his eyes and leaned his forehead into his hands. “But everything changes-even if it’s just in your own head.” He let out a laugh that made Aberforth’s skin crawl. “Severus Snape teaches potions at Hogwarts, and Sirius-” Lupin’s voice broke, and both men shuddered. “Sirius Black is a Death Eater. All along.”
Aberforth felt a familiar sensation of dread and anger steal over his heart. The effect that the name of Sirius Black still had over him was shocking. For the millionth time since his imprisonment, Aberforth recalled every act of cruelty and selfishness he’d ever witnessed in the boy. He needed to convince himself that the signs had been there all along. It brought him no comfort.
He imagined that Lupin knew this process intimately.
“What an adjustment,” Lupin muttered into the heel of his palm. “It’s not right.”
“No, it’s not,” Aberforth agreed.
“Everything was lies-Sirius, Snivellus, all of it. And here I am. Best education in the wizarding world and I’m virtually unemployable.” Lupin laughed again. “And everyone else-dead. I wonder what Peter would be doing-he was lousy at his job, mind you. James could do anything-Or Lily-would she ever-” Lupin broke off into a strangled sort of laughter that sounded suspiciously like a covered sob.
Aberforth wished he were a man of eloquence. He wished he knew what to say.
Lupin lifted his head out of his hands and regained his control. “No need to be pathetic,” he chastised himself. He picked himself up off the barstool and strode purposefully to the Floo.
Aberforth watched with knowing eyes. For all his shabbiness, for his suffering and betrayal, Lupin had to maintain some form of dignity. Aberforth could understand that. If he lost his self-control, what would he have left?
Lupin vanished in a whirl of green flames. Aberforth went back to cleaning up the mess made by the celebrators earlier in the evening. He wondered if the crowd knew how hollow their toasts had been. The wizarding world might have known peace for over a year, but for those like Aberforth and Lupin, they knew that peace was never more than a stopgap.
***
In the final days of the war, no one slept easily. In the early hours before dawn, Aberforth awoke to the incessant pounding on the front door of the Hog’s Head. When he didn’t come down right away, a Patronus in the shape of an enormous dog appeared in his bedroom with the message, “It’s me.”
“Do you even know what time it is?” Aberforth asked when he opened his door a few minutes later. “What do you want?”
Sirius looked over his shoulder uneasily. “Can I come in?”
Aberforth stepped back to let the boy inside, locking the door and casting a silencing charm behind him. Sirius paced across the room at a dizzying speed.
“Ab, did you ever-have you-” Sirius sputtered. “I have a favor to ask you.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Aberforth warned. He waved his hands and stepped back from the boy. “If this is some mad plan of yours-some suicide mission-then I want no part of it, do you hear? I’ll keep tabs on my patrons and play my part, but don’t ask me to get involved.”
“Please, Ab,” Sirius begged, his eyes earnest. “I just need information. I want-I want your opinion. About your brother. He lies a lot, doesn’t he?”
Aberforth blinked. “Yes, I suppose he does,” he answered carefully, unsure of where this conversation would lead. He studied the boy as he paced in his agitated state.
There were miles of differences between Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore. Aberforth could see that now. Albus lied as easily as he exhaled, but Sirius, no matter what else he was, told the truth with his every glance. He burned with such intensity that he had no capacity for deception. Everything in his manner bespoke of a consuming fear. He was dripping in fear, drowning in it.
“What’s wrong?” asked Aberforth. “What’s Albus done?”
Sirius shook his head, but didn’t break stride. “It’s nothing-that is-I’ve come across a story-” Reaching the middle of the floor, he stopped and rounded on Aberforth. “Was your brother in love with Gellert Grindelwald?” he asked blatantly. “Did he really believe in the Greater Good?”
With a sigh, Aberforth lowered himself into a chair. “He was. He did. But that was a long time ago. Albus-”
Sirius had resumed his trek, again shaking his head. “That’s not the heart of it,” he explained. His voice held a frantic edge. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to say-” The boy turned away and ran his hands through his hair. When he turned back, his expression was tortured. “I-I only-”
Aberforth took pity on him. “Just sit down and tell me-ask me whatever you want. Just say it. I’d like to get back to bed at some point.”
He didn’t sit down, but Sirius did manage to stop pacing. He looked Aberforth directly in the eye. “You know your brother better than anyone else in the country.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aberforth hedged.
“You understand him better than most?” the boy pressed.
“Yes.”
“Right.” Sirius shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. “Would you-that is-do you think you could trust him with a secret?”
Aberforth nearly laughed in derision. “Keeping secrets is my brother’s specialty. I’d reckon he could fill a pensive or two with what he doesn’t let on.”
Sirius clenched and unclenched his hands. “But would you trust him?”
“You needn’t fear that he’s working for the other side, if that’s what you’re after.”
“No, I know that.” Sirius shook his head. “I’m not questioning his good intentions. But I’ve seen him be ruthless. I’ve seen him use people-believing that the end justifies the means. What I’m really asking is- Would you ever trust him to put the safety of a child-of a family over his own schemes?”
“Ah.”
It seemed that Sirius Black had a better measure of Albus’s true nature than he’d ever suspected.
Aberforth took a moment before he could respond. “You have to understand that I love my brother,” he said slowly. “I love him, but I see him clearly. Albus has all the best motivations. He does. But he treats people like pawns. We’ve both seen it. His plans are clever-truly-but I don’t see how they’re worth sacrificing yourself.”
Shifting his weight in the chair, Aberforth looked Sirius directly in the eye. “Of course, many would say that I can’t see past the end of my own nose,” he admitted with a shrug. “Would he betray a family for the sake of the mission? I don’t know. I don’t have any answers for you, and I’m not trying to tell you what to do. Albus will always do what he thinks is right, but I can’t tell you if that would protect these people. Would I take the chance? No.”
Sirius stared at him for a moment, seeming to process Aberforth’s words. He swept his eyes across the empty room, and Aberforth could feel his resolve forming. The sky was starting to lighten outside the window. “Thank you,” Sirius said. His voice was small, but firm. “That was exactly what I needed to hear.”
Aberforth nodded and showed the boy out the door. “Now don’t you ever wake me up again,” he grumbled. Sirius walked away in the dingy pre-dawn light, but Aberforth didn’t stay to watch him go.
Two weeks later, the world would be upside down. The Potters would die and the war would end. Eye witnesses would testify that Sirius Black murdered Peter Pettigrew and a street full of Muggle onlookers.
Sirius only laughed when they took him to Azkaban.
***
Hogsmeade had become downright unpleasant after Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. Dementors swooped across the village liked they owned the place, Aurors patrolled day and night, and wanted posters hung everywhere. On each poster, Black’s maniacal photograph from twelve years before raved on and on into eternity. For some reason the image was impossible to ignore or tune out; it caught the eye whenever it came into view. Customers were fewer these days, and residents were quieter. People became cautious when they left their homes, jumping at even the littlest noises. A general air of anxiety and despair hung over the village.
After a long business day, Aberforth was not exactly thrilled about going outside to put out his rubbish. While he didn’t relish the idea of being exposed in the dead of night with Dementors in the area, he refused to change his schedule on account of them. He made his way silently, holding his wand at the ready and keeping his eyes wide open.
A loud clanging noise drew his eye down the alleyway towards the back of Madam Puddifoot’s business. An enormous black dog was getting into Puddifoot’s bins, but strangely enough, it didn’t seem to be after the food. It had a hold on an old newspaper peeking out from under one of the lids, but the dog couldn’t pull it free.
Hoping to get back inside soon, Aberforth went about his business and filled his own bins with garbage. As he finished, he happened to glance back to the dog.
Aberforth froze.
Sirius Black stood beside the bins now. He seemed almost unrecognizable-his hair was long and matted, tattered gray prison robes hung from his emaciated frame, and his eyes bore a haunted look that Aberforth had never seen on a living face-but he was clearly Sirius Black. He lifted the lid to the rubbish bin and pulled the newspaper free, an action too ordinary for his ghastly appearance.
Aberforth held his breath. There were Aurors just a stone’s throw away at the Three Broomsticks.
He should call out, make a noise, and alert the authorities. Sirius Black was a murderer. He betrayed his friends. He walked away from his brother, and understood the cruelty in Mundungus Fletcher’s jokes. He made ridiculous phoenix t-shirts, and captivated everyone in his presence. Sirius fought for lost causes. He went in unarmed to attack a gang of Death Eaters. He saw Albus’s ruthlessness, and he could annoy Aberforth with a single glance. He adored his flying motorcycle, and he laughed when he killed twelve Muggles.
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? Somewhere in the midst of the enigma and the misinformation, there’d been a real person unrepresented by the raving man on the wanted posters or the little boy running through Hogsmeade with an enchanted mirror in his hand.
In remembrance for the boy he thought he knew, and in respect for the man he would never know, Aberforth turned away from the alley without a sound. He left the measure of Sirius Black to the world.
***