Chapter Text
Chapter One: Invitation
~O~
A papery thin light glared harshly on the rough wooden countertop. It cut across the sparkling glasses and a streak of chalk white holes pressed into the thick dusty surfaces of the floorboards and shelves. Looking at the caked spots layered with discolouration, clearly people didn’t come to the bar because it was pretty, they came to forget themselves and live inside a bubble for a little while. Hung up on life and all its bitter sorrows.
Crates of boxes piled high in the corner, stacked precariously over the edge, and webbed over time with dust motes floating in the air. A glow of pale light, facing down, absorbed heat from empty glass bottles lining the shelves. As I was dusting down the shelves, my arm rubbed against remnants of sticky slime and grit. An overpowering combination of overripe fruit and sweetened juice flew up my nose as if it hadn’t been touched for days. The sink was overladen with stained cups, plates and glassy with an oily residue. Better to have my morning coffee before I tackled this.
The bar was stuffy with hard labour, gunk and sweat. In the chaos of the war, it wasn’t practical for the bar to be open for business and so, it was left unmanned. All the while business remained stagnant after so many recovered from the aftershocks of war. There were those snotty noble's bloods that considered it a loss of effort, others wore the effects with pride knowing the cost they had to endure. However, that was left unnoticed. It was in the long-pointed silences, multiple locks on the door, hiding behind their curtains and occasionally peeking out their doors and windows. At most, people were lost and slowly losing sense of time. Hope was spent on a dime; it was hard to trust something you couldn’t see. Life continued to sprawl in a daydream. Hardly a week had past and already the patrons were living in fixed states, with the dead barely cold underground.
It was no wonder anyone got through the day. Plenty of patrons have come and gone, but not one lifted a finger. I was beginning to think they were waiting for something. I eyed a group of middle-aged women giggling like schoolgirls and pointing at me with their heads close together. As I was scrubbing the wooden countertop for the hundredth time, I waited to see what they would do. I had no doubt they weren’t here for drinks but were considerably passing the time so that they could approach me at the opportune moment that my back was turned.
There was a loud bang on the countertop that rattled the glasses on the rack, which momentarily divided my attention. A large squat man rubbed his stomach and barely touched the corner with his nose. I had to lean over just to make eye contact. His one leg was pointed outwards, tapping his foot with it, while fisting a hand on his hip. He massaged his moustache, not entirely having a clue what to do next.
I scowled. ‘What is it?’
He smiled crookedly. ‘Hello, do you happen to have an instrument I could play to impress the ladies in that back storage of yours.’
My scowl furrowed further. ‘You’ve been sniffing around have you. Poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.’
He scratched his head. ‘Hmmm! Are you secretly saving it for yourself? You fancy any of these lasses, eh?’ He paused to look behind at the cluster of women; they all quickly looked away once our gazes landed.
I clenched my jaw and fisted his collar, lifting him an inch from the ground. ‘Why don’t you turn around and maybe I won’t throw you out. Perhaps one of these ladies will take pity on you and pay you to be their Romeo for a day. If you’re lucky.’ I roughly let him go and lightly shoved him.
He tripped on his way down but quickly pulled himself up and righted his collar, giving me a dirty look over his shoulder on his way back to his own lonesome table.
Shaking my head, I tipped a glass in the sink and rolled my sleeves up. The dishes sloshed and foamed as I briskly rinsed them to dry.
‘Are you Aberforth Dumbledore?’
A muscle jumped in my jaw, I paused midway, soapy water dripping from my hands into the sink. My gaze briefly flickered to the woman standing with a clipboard. I didn’t stop what I was doing but kept soaking them.
‘Who’s asking?’ I grunted.
There was a beat of silence. Then she said, ‘Is there an exception to the rule?’
I smiled grimly. ‘It depends on whether you are a reporter or a regular.’
‘What if I was both?’ For a long moment, there was a rustle of clothing, a squeal of a stool sliding and a clatter of the clipboard slamming on top of the wooden countertop.
I slowly twisted as the woman made herself comfortable. She straightened her buttoned rose-pink frock and fixed her honey golden hair into a bun. She looked young and ambitious, early to mid twenties. Her nails were sharp and polished with glistering shine. It popped, even in the dim light. I grabbed a bunch of napkins that were haphazardly splayed underneath the counter and started folding them for something to do. When I didn’t speak, she shifted in her seat, snatched an ink pen from inside of her jacket pocket and gripped the clipboard as if deciding this was worth the risk.
‘You seem a lot simpler than your brother, who from how I understand it was quite popular with the masses.’ She was ogling me, her hand poised to write. I stretched the napkin like an elastic and slapped it down with the rest. All the while, gravitating my gaze from what she was doing with her hands and the rigid way I was working through the motions, my mouth dry.
‘Who wants to know?’ I asked sharply. My gaze narrowed.
She clicked her tongue and didn’t answer but burst out with. ‘You’ve made it clear on more than one occasion that you could care less about your brother.’
I scrunched the napkin in my hand, glaring. What my relationship with my brother was, was none of this cow’s business. I didn’t give a goat’s dung in hell who she was. This had nothing to do with her. Our family history wasn’t a social event nor museum that they could analyse and pick on.
I gritted my teeth and said icily. ‘If you’ve forgotten the way out, I can help show you. Its no hassle.’
Her mouth parted and her eyes widened. ‘I think… I know the way out. Th-thank you.’ She fumbled with the clipboard as it tried to slip out of her hand. She managed to tighten her hold and pulled it to her chest resolutely and marched out the door with her chin tilted upwards. No shame in the world.
Breathing through my nose, I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. Sometimes, folks never know to leave well enough alone. They always had to have their nose in everything. I expect they have nothing special they can return back to, so they sell their soul on wealth and public image. Not even bothering to hide their own greed and stuffed pockets.
After drying the rest of the dishes, I used an old rag to wipe my hands down. The movement jerked my arm a little too sharply, which made a twinge of pain pulse up my arm. I hissed as I glanced down at the sogginess of the wound. Blood welled, damping my arm. I pointed my wand using the aquamente spell to squirt a steady stream of water to cleanse the blood. Once the last of the blood faded, I removed the bandage carefully so that I didn’t rip my skin off. Then I shoved my wand back into my pocket, gently poured a bottle of dittany onto a piece of cloth that was semi clean and dabbed it on my skin. It stung as I grazed the tender skin, my arm flexed from the jab. After that was done, I rolled a bandage over my wound, looping it round and tightening it up. By no means was it neat, my hands were never steady when I did this, mother was better at it than me. My throat closed. When the bandage was in place, I washed my hands in the sink, the blood mixing with the water. As I stared down, watching the liquid drain, a sudden hush fell into the crowd.
Blinking through my vision, shaking my thoughts loose, I glanced up wondering what kind of spell muted their voices. I stilled as my gaze flitted to the door. It clipped back into place, the click louder than it should be in the silence that had settled. There was a flash of charcoal grey stain on the otherwise pristine pale blue sky before it eclipsed into shadows that clashed with the mellow light of the inn.
Minerva McGonagall made her presence known even though her intent was the opposite. There was a collective pause before the crowd resumed their conversations. I leaned back from the sink and immediately began polishing glasses even though they didn’t need it. It gave me something to do. I didn’t know why the new head of Hogwarts chose this inn as her choice of venue.
‘Good afternoon, Aberforth,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘A glass of mulled mine will do, if it’s not much trouble.’
She was unmistakably in her element as she took a seat at the bar. Her hair clipped in her habitual bun, her hazel green eyes observing me keenly. Her emerald green robes stood out in stark contrast to the otherwise grungy bar.
I quietly swapped my rags for a glass and smoothly poured some mulled wine from one of the fresher packs. I slid the glass to her her and raised an eyebrow. ‘Ice?’
McGonagall shook her head. ‘Thank you, Aberforth.’ She swallowed a sip of her drink.
I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘You mind telling me what a woman like you is doing in a place like this.’
Minerva slowly put her drink down but kept her hand on the glass. She paused and shrugged. ‘Would you believe me if I said I could do with the break or call me a liar.’
‘I don’t have any problem with you coming here, if that is the only reason.’ But something told me, there was more. Only, I wanted her to admit to it which she was not stupid enough to do. So, I waited it out.
‘You should take care of that wound.’ She nodded to my right arm bleeding through.
My gaze dropped down and up to her face, I didn’t move from my position. ‘It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.’
She gave me a stern look, which remarkably reminded me of my mother. ‘I’d hardly call that taken care of Aberforth. That wound doesn’t look close to healed and… your bandage – it looks as if you are in need of a maid more than you realise.’
I cracked my neck and avoided looking at her. ‘I don’t need help taking care of my own wounds.’
She pursed her lips. ‘It could get worse if you don’t get it looked at. Stubborn pride will get you nowhere.’
‘Why does it matter?’ I shifted my stance. ‘It’s not like I’m going anywhere.’
Her face tightened and she leaned forward with her elbows on the wooden countertop. ‘Aberforth, come to Hogwarts. Let Poppy take a —.’
‘I don’t think that is possible, Minerva.’ My face was hard. ‘I’m not going to Hogwarts for something as simple as a wound.’
‘Aberforth.’ She stared at me with a quiet resolve. ‘You don’t always have to do everything alone. There’s no shame in asking for help.’ There was a brief moment of silence before she said, ‘Besides, Poppy will take care of it, no questions asked. Just…think about it.’
It wasn’t as simple as that. My throat bobbed as my vision swam, the inn sinking into the background. I wasn’t there anymore.
‘Aberforth!’ My mother gasped. Crimson drops splashed onto the plush rug in the living room. The dark redwood floor shimmered against marble stone. A halo of bright light from the gilded high arched windows bedazzled her dark brown hair, making her face shine like pale moonshine. She rushed to inspect me. We were alone. Her hands fluttered from my chin to my arm, flustered. ‘Can’t you and Albus give it a rest. Why are you always at each other’s throats all of the time. Think of your sister.’
My shoulders slumped, head down. ‘I’m sorry mother. Albus gets under my skin sometimes. I can’t help myself. He’s so smug, it’s grating.’
She gently lifted my chin and said softly. ‘All the more reason to stop.’
I nodded and smiled. My heart lifting.
‘Come here, take a seat.’ She patted to the two-seater sofa elegantly. ‘Let’s take a look at you.’ She smiled warmly and steered me down next to her, the sofa dipping from our heavy weight.
She clasped my hand and very delicately cleaned and disinfected my wounds. Her touch a sweet caress. I knew my mother wouldn’t ever disappoint me. For now, I was safe in her arms.
The touch followed me out of the memory. Lightly tapping and shaking me.
‘Aberforth.’
I exhaled a jagged breath; hazel green eyes stared at me creasing at the corners not the familiar brown ones. Her face wobbled into view slowly and I jolted back, hands slipping from my arm.
‘Are you okay, Aberforth?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Fine,’ I said roughly. Tension corded my every muscle; it was a while before I could look her in the eye.
Sound was not fluid. It filtered through lenses of static noise and broken language. Accents blended together and the volume of voices siphoned sound in between spaces that overflowed the room. The air felt enormously inflated with specks of scents and flavours. My mind was fuzzy with lasting residue. It pulsed slightly from the throbbing pain in my arm. The roaring in my ears lowered so that I could recognise the voices that seemed drowned earlier to surface as booming flowing bodies and raucous laughter. Temporarily shattering the illusion of safety, I sought but was denied. It was not welcome. My breathing slowed the sooner I came back to my body and remembered where I was.
A trail of stale rum, smoked ash, melted beeswax and a hint of citrus flower. It suffused down my throat at first then simultaneously clogged up my nostrils, making them flare.
I could not ignore the hot breath that cooled the wool in my head. I couldn’t stand still, my hands moved and zeroed in on a mark in the wood that was fixed. No matter how vigorously I swiped the surface, it wouldn’t erase, just like the woman in front of me. Holding count to my every breath and the shifting expressions I took grave pains to keep locked and in control. I couldn’t give her a chance to see me rattled.
‘Aberforth, come to the hospital wing with me.’
It took more strength than it normally did to glance at her directly. Her mouth thinned once our gazes collided. She gulped a huge amount of wine before she continued as though preparing for a confession.
‘I assure you,’ she said, putting the empty glass down. ‘Under my authority, you shall neither feel attacked nor pressured to do something that goes against principle.’
‘Why is there any need to go, at all?’ I continued digging into the mark, the rag riding my rage. ‘I’m rather comfortable here. Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it right here.’
There was a pregnant pause. Little rivulets of wind escaped inside as patrons entered and departed from the inn. Still, she did not speak as though words left her. Several times her mouth opened and closed as if testing the waters.
‘It’s not - it’s not a matter of place, rather… convenience.’
For a second, I stopped moving and said, ‘I don’t follow.’
She bit her lip, eyes holding me still. ‘It would be prudent for you to come to Hogwarts.’
I glance up once at her before it went tumbling down into the rag in my hands which I started to dust off. ‘Why?’
Her jaw worked but she couldn’t mask the rising lines in her forehead quickly forming a pressure point. ‘You're less likely to get disturbed there if someone confronts you and you’ll have more control over your privacy.’ Her voice was frigid. ‘Better than here.’ She swept the inn with her gaze in disapproval.
My gaze sliced through hers. ‘You still haven’t answered my question.’ I threw the gritty rag under the countertop and bent further to grasp the broomstick. It raked the floor as I dislodged it from underneath. Finally slipping free, I looked back at her and said, ‘Why is it so important?’
She exhaled minuscule before replying tiredly. ‘I believe you know the answer to that.’
My eye twitched, a vein popped in my temple. ‘Have you been ordered not to?’
Minerva raised her hands in the air, shoulders rolling. ‘More or less.’
My muscles flexed as I ground the broom into the floor, gripping tightly. ‘Let me ask you one question. On whose authority.’
There was a long beat of silence, then, rather quietly. ‘Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.’
‘I see.’ My breathing deepened the more I swept. ‘Now, why would the Minister request specifically for me.’ Very unusual. ‘What precisely is his intention?’
She folded her hands in her lap and straightened. ‘He’d like reports,’ she said crisply. ‘Written statements from those associated with known DeathEaters and any related accounts of activity that would otherwise undermine the integrity of evidence, thus far, collected into custody.’
I raised an eyebrow at her. ‘That’s a long list. Are you sure I won’t forget.’
She forced out the words as if her teeth were glued together. ‘It won’t take long.’
I gestured to the bar and the bubble of voices. ‘I’m sure I can do that here better than anywhere else.’
‘Not likely, Aberforth.’ Her lips were trembling in fury.
I slapped my palms on my thighs and leaned against the broomstick like it was a door handle. ‘How can you be so sure?’
She sucked her cheeks in and began to toss the empty glass side to side to either hand. ‘More than likely, it will get back to the press, which is not something we can suppress once it gets out there. Which would you prefer?’ She paused her motion and sharpened her gaze on me. ‘For this to be quiet or public knowledge.’
My mouth pinched into a frown. ‘Minerva, it’s not that simple. You know that.’
‘I understand Aberforth, but something has to give.’ She stood upright, smoothing down her robes. ‘I know that this is more than just about returning. You don’t know what it looks like, do you.’
When I didn’t answer, she stayed rooted to the spot, if only for a minute before continuing. ‘You know I can’t force you. Just think about it, Aberforth.’ Her robes unfurled at the back of her legs as she walked away. She stopped, hands on the door and then glanced back over her shoulder. Her stare demanding. ‘It’s more than just your pride on the line.’
I was left with a fleeting ounce of irritation, before the doorbell jingled shut.
The inn didn’t feel so loud anymore. It was as though feeling had returned to my senses. I was no longer idle but, I didn’t want to make a move that would set me back a long way. A decision needed to be made. One that I couldn’t fight and win. One that cannot be fixed by time or distance. Only one thought reframed in my mind. I was going in with my eyes open and hoping I didn’t have to eat my own words, after. If I lived that long.
‘Alright! Clear off! I’m closing the bar early.’ There were a few groans here and there but, in the end, they all shuffled out the door.
My shoes rapped the floor as I climbed the two steps to the armchair and snatched my cloak. At the door, my gaze one last time canvased the bar, a place that was both solace and balance. I wasn’t looking forward to where I was going.