FicWad

General note about comments: Sometimes this story (meaning not just this chapter, but the whole thing) contains non-obvious but awful jokes. Not that anyone has done this, but please refrain from explaining puns and the like in comments.


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Chapter 52: Aberforth Dumbledore


Friday, January 18, 1991. Early morning.


Goats are useful. You can milk them, eat their meat, make leather from their hide, and, for the long-haired kind, spin and weave their hair. Aberforth Dumbledore used his goats for all of these purposes, but mostly for the milk and wool. Not that the Hog's Head was fancy enough to use goat cheese for anything, but he was able to make a little profit on what he couldn't personally use. Quite a bit of the wool had gone to clothes for himself (as well as an inordinate number of socks for his brother).

You can also, it turns out, get in quite a lot of trouble if you enchant your goats the wrong way. When nosy enemies of his brother had been looking for ways to score political points, they had reported Aberforth. He was never sure if they had actually spied on him or not—his guess was 'not', given how careful he was. But the allegations were enough to compel Ministry officials to investigate, and the fact was that he did have a lot of spells on his goats. What sane wizard wouldn't? Goats can get in a lot of trouble, especially in a wizarding village!

While the Ministry couldn't actually identify the charms he had used, Aberforth nevertheless got convicted. The court had reasoned that so much magic on a goat couldn't possibly be consistent with the Statute of Secrecy, which, to be fair, was probably true for most goats under most circumstances. Explaining why his case was different would have involved explaining more than Aberforth cared to reveal, and probably more than the judge would have cared to listen to. At sentencing, the judge fined him and ordered the goats wiped clean of all magic. The prosecutor had wanted some sort of sweeping injunction, too, "to ensure it won't happen again." By that point, though, the judge was so irritated at both sides for wasting the court's time with a ridiculous case that he forced the prosecutor to come up with an enumerated list.

The result, filed with the court several months later, was a ponderous magnum opus of a brief that the prosecutor was angling to get the Wizengamot to pass as statutory law. The judge was not amused, but Aberforth asked for time to check it out, and a week later filed a response saying he wouldn't object to the proposed injunction. The judge decided that getting rid of such an embarrassingly stupid case was more important than doctrinal niceties, and that was that.

There hadn't been anything on the list that Aberforth had even considered using. So, other than a serious overhaul of his wards, it was back to life as usual. The list, though, was hilarious. He got a copy bound up in book form to keep behind the bar—patrons thought it was good for a laugh now and then, especially if they were drunk enough. He had re-titled it, too: "Things Aberforth Dumbledore Is Not Allowed To Do To Goats".

Aberforth's goat barn was attached to the back of the Hog's Head, so he didn't have to go outside to get to it. If he didn't want to go outside, the goats usually didn't either, and today was no exception. It made checking up on them easy in the winter, even if they did get fussy and start eating the walls out of boredom sometimes. He tried to keep the walls upright by relieving their boredom on a regular basis, which is what he was up to this morning.

Aberforth spent a lot of time out here, actually, ostensibly because it kept the goats sane, and in reality because it kept him sane. Humans tended to irritate him eventually. Goats never did. No matter what they chewed on, he at least never had to worry about them coming into his bar and getting drunk and belligerent. Goats don't engage in complicated, destructive political disputes. They don't care about the blood purity of other goats. They don't care about your fashion sense, or personal hygiene, or what other humans thought of you. Goats never become dark lords. And they sure as hell never consider abandoning their families to join up with dark lords, either!

In any event, this morning he was transfiguring a small hill of rock in the center of the barn for the goats to climb on. As with most transfiguration, it wouldn't last forever, but the goats never seemed to have trouble knowing when to get off it before it disintegrated.

He kept a pile of rocks in the corner to use as samples. Today the goats would be playing on simulated Wingate sandstone from the American southwest, which Aberforth had picked up on vacation once because it had a nice, satisfying red color. Or at least, this piece did, so his sculpture today was red, too.

Aberforth had kept up this practice of indoor landscape-building for well over half a century, and by now was skilled enough to have made muggle zoo designers green with envy, had they ever seen one of his creations. The goats were already leaping onto it, squeezing between boulders, fearlessly traipsing along tiny ledges, stepping onto arched bridges that were being created almost directly beneath their hooves, winding their way up to follow the flowing stone towards the rafters, even as its mounds and towers gave way to twisting, forking, narrowing extremities that grew outwards from the sculpture like the branches of an enormous leafless tree.

Aberforth paused, at last, careful not to let the goats get in reach of the actual rafters where they risked harassing the owls. He never got tired of watching how something so apparently unsuited to graceful climbing could nevertheless be breathtakingly nimble and competent at it. The symbolism was not lost on him.

It was not lost on his brother, either, who, along with some barmaids, was one of the only people allowed back in this part of the Hog's Head complex. Aberforth had been too absorbed in his work to notice the faint magical buzz of the wards alerting him to Albus' arrival, but when he turned around and saw Albus silently watching him—as had happened far too many times to count since they were children—Aberforth carefully hid his surprise.

Albus knew he was done now, and looked at him expectantly, obviously preparing to relate some overly-complicated account of some even more overly-complicated situation that would be exactly the sort of thing Aberforth would never get himself into. At least Albus was sensitive enough to avoid stating the obvious—the sculpture for the goats was stunningly beautiful, and the goats' ability to navigate it was no less awe-inspiring.

"Hrmf." Aberforth rarely started conversations.

"So," began Albus, "I had a remarkable experience the other day involving one of those chickens you sold to Hagrid."

Ohhhh. Right. That. Aberforth merely raised an eyebrow.

"It seems that someone placed a triggered engorgement charm on some of them, linked to their presence in the Headmaster's suite. It was a very sophisticated bit of magic, in fact—Filius and I were very impressed."

Aberforth continued to stand there, eyebrow slightly raised once more, looking merely curious.

Albus continued: "It left no trace after triggering, of course, so when I woke up on Wedneday to find a four-foot tall rooster on my desk, any evidence of how it got there was long gone. I actually suspected one of the students had done it in a sincere effort to be helpful! But on an untriggered chicken, you see, we found a mild compulsion charm to keep people from investigating it too closely, and a mild compulsion charm on the chicken to seek out my office. It was subtle, delicate, layered magic, and I would never have discovered it had Silvanus not engaged in some . . . experimentation."

Albus paused expectantly; Aberforth waited.

"Very well," Albus said, smiling, "don't ask what kind! It was quite fascinating, though—he actually analyzed the rooster's crow to see if it were magical or not. Care to guess which?"

"Not," said Aberforth, confidently.

"Precisely. But Silvanus, as you know, can't leave well enough alone, and he kept poking at it with diagnostic spells. That of course is too much for magic that relies on staying hidden in plain sight, so to speak. So Silvanus took it to Filius, who eventually identified the enchantment. Without telling me before starting, I might add!"

Aberforth permitted himself a small grin.

"We tested it, of course. The chicken ballooned up as soon as it was past my door—merely standing on the steps wouldn't do. It was impressively precise. So."

"So," echoed Aberforth.

"So," continued Albus, "it has unfortunately not been the only prank involving chickens which I have recently encountered." Aberforth ceased bothering to hide his interest, and was now giving his brother his full attention. "You see," said Albus, who was gesturing enthusiastically, "word of that incident took most of Wednesday to make its way around the entire school. As of last night, roosters have been silenced, amplified, enlarged, shrunk, confused, taunted by illusions, charmed to attack humans, charmed to run away from them . . ." Aberforth was grinning by now. ". . . dyed every color of the rainbow and then some by both magical and non-magical means, and dressed up in some truly adorable little outfits!"

At this last, Aberforth couldn't take it any longer and guffawed. "Clever! Didn't expect that."

"No?"

"No. Seemed like what you always wanted, you know, four-foot tall rooster. Gigantic chicken in your office! Thought you'd appreciate it." Aberforth looked at his brother expectantly, then shook his head. "Wasted! My humor is wasted on you. Always was. I can't be expected to explain it, you know! Wouldn't want to spoil it, right?"

"Come now, I laughed! It was the funniest thing that happened to me this week. I just wish you had anticipated the aftermath."

"Seems harmless enough." Aberforth shooed his brother back into the hallway to the kitchen, giving one last look back to the goats, and locking the door behind them. "If you buy the business with roosters fighting basilisks, I suppose you'd mind, of course. You don't, do you?"

Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully in a manner Aberforth had always found pretentious, and peered interestedly around the kitchen, which looked almost precisely the same as it had the last fifty times he had seen it. "Hm," he said, "I can't say that I don't. The roosters are cheap and distracting, and they improve everyone's spirits. I think we stand a much better chance of fending off a basilisk if the school's morale is high."

Aberforth snorted. "Should have seen that answer coming. Classic, that. Care to join me for breakfast?"

"No, no, I unfortunately am expected to make an appearance."

Aberforth nodded, then, sounding completely serious, said "of course. The Headmaster of Hogwarts can't go disappearing for ordinary reasons like visiting family—he has to have good, adequately mysterious reasons for it!"

"Precisely!" answered Albus, smiling brightly, giving no indication he had understood Aberforth's comment the way it had been intended. Fine, thought Aberforth, be that way. Only Albus could maneuver himself into a conversation where he could be inscrutable in response to sarcasm about his own inscrutability. Aberforth just shook his head. It had always been this way since they were very young.

"Very well," said Albus, pulling his winter cloak more tightly around himself. "Thank you for confirming my suspicions about the roosters—I will be sure not to let anyone else know of your involvement."

After Albus had left, Aberforth was left muttering to himself. "That would require acknowledging my existence, wouldn't it." He trudged upstairs to the sitting room on the second floor.

"Well," he said, waking up his sister's portrait. She had been snoozing in a chair, which he guessed she had taken from some other painting, since it looked out of place in her ivy-covered archway.

"Oh, good morning Abbie!" She smiled, happy to see him. It always made him feel guilty about not visiting this room more. Even though he wasn't sure the portrait had real feelings, the whole point of a wizard portrait was to let you relate to the subject as if they were the real person.

"Albus just stopped by."

"Oh? You should have brought him up here!" She stood up and hid the chair behind the arch, then stood there fidgeting.

"He had to leave again quickly. Didn't want the school to see he was missing and have to explain he had a brother."

"Abbie, stop that! You know Albus is busy. He has always cared about us, even when . . ."

"I know, I know. In his own way. He asked me about the roosters."

"Oh! I had forgotten about that." She grimaced in disapproval. "I do wish you hadn't done that. It was horribly mean."

Aberforth shrugged "It was as I predicted. Too oblivious to think about it much. Or at all. Hmph." The portrait looked doubtful. "No, he wasn't acting. Too much effort to go to, pretending not to care just to ruin the prank. Oh, you know he'd get me back some other way!"

Ariana grimaced in what Aberforth took as her conceding the point.

"No," Aberforth said, "just wanted to make sure it was me, not a student, so he could forget about it."

"Oh. So he wasn't mad?"

"I told you, he doesn't think like that! Waste of a good prank, too."

"I don't think it's better to pick on someone if they don't know you are doing it. It doesn't make it better. You are still being mean!" She looked thoughtful for a moment, then cringed in embarrassment. "And it was in really awful taste, too—even for you."

"Hmph. Taste. Hmph. Tastes like chicken!" Okay, that got a laugh out of Ariana. "Ought to be able to take a joke. Usually can. It was too good to pass up!"

Arianna pursed her lips in disapproval. "I still don't think that's a good reason for doing something like that." She looked embarrassed. "I wish you would stop with . . . that kind of humor. Ever since Gelly . . . it's not fair. You don't even know!"

Aberforth sighed. The explicit mention of Gellert brought up old, bad memories and made him feel a little guilty for pranks undertaken at his brother's expense. He had argued about this many times before with his sister's portrait—portraits were very predictable conversationalists, at least once you have had them around for enough decades. They also didn't know when to leave well enough alone. Or, maybe that was just little sisters. It didn't matter.

"He . . ." Arianna started in, nervously. "He—you—someone should go see him. I wish you would go see him. It can't do any harm, and it has been so long!"

Powerful wizards tended to have long lives, and Gellert Grindelwald and the Dumbledore brothers were no exceptions. No news ever came from Nurmengard—Aberforth supposed Gellert had access to stationery and the like and could send letters from prison if he so chose, but the situation seemed to be one of voluntary isolation. Not that anyone actually wished to go visit the former dark lord.

They were all too embarrassed, Aberforth thought. Everyone had done something in the war that they regretted, and everyone wanted to forget. At least, he hoped Gellert was ashamed of himself. The boy hadn't started out evil—he just lived in his head too much and built all his grand schemes there first, without anyone to tell him they were bad ideas until he had gone ahead and implemented them. He was exactly like Albus in that respect, except Albus had marginally more common sense, and had friends who could drag him back to reality when he needed it. They had seemed very much alike, back then—Aberforth had unique perspective on that, having sat up at night listening to them talk so many times.

No, Gellert might have become evil, but more likely he simply did the wrong things at the wrong times, made poor choices of friends, and justified it all to himself as being "for the greater good". Many wizards did made similar justifications for minor, every-day evils, but Gellert had enough power that the consequences of his bad decisions were far more terrible than those of the average wizard. It was a good explanation, Aberforth thought, although he also thought it was a good justification for keeping Grindelwald locked up in Nurmengard, no matter how much he had repented. He was just too dangerous.

By now, nearing the end of the Twentieth Century, the consensus of historians was that many of the atrocities committed in the war had had nothing to do with Grindelwald. He had, it was believed, paid very little attention to the muggle side of the war, and spent most of his time preoccupied with his own idiosyncratic agenda. His advisors were either happy to keep him in the dark, or were too scared of him to express anything that could be construed as dissent. Everyone agreed Gellert had become a vicious little monster in those limited aspects of the war he concerned himself with, and everyone agreed he should have kept better tabs on his supposed muggle allies, but that didn't mean he couldn't have repented by now. It had been a long time. Aberforth, though, much like the rest of the wizarding world, had little interest in actually asking Grindelwald about any of that. So the dark lord stayed in prison, and the world stayed outside, and Aberforth liked to think everyone was happier this way.

Ariana's potrait did not agree. She remembered the times Gellert had been nice to her, and seemed fixated on the idea that Albus or Aberforth should go visit him. Albus, characteristically, would smile and hide his emotions, saying "perhaps some day, when I am not so busy", whenever she thought to bring up the topic. She couldn't grasp the complexities of why he might not want to go, of why it might be a bad idea, and Aberforth was sure there were reasons Albus wasn't telling them.

Of course, if Albus Dumbledore ever stopped acting secretive about something, his friends and family would immediately suspect polyjuice.






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Author's notes:

Merry Christmas! I have a chapter, so I'm posting it. Once again, I'm not dead, the story isn't dead, etc., etc.


I started writing this story a little over a year ago, in mid-December 2010. I didn't expect to have so many words written by now, nor to get so many readers as I have gotten. I had certainly hoped I had set up something that could be an ongoing sort of writing project, so I'm pretty pleased with myself to still be updating, if infrequently. Thank you all for reading!!!


About this chapter:

Please don't spoil any jokes in this chapter by explaining them in comments; they are funnier if people work them out on their own. I originally had some hints here, but decided that was overkill and excessively silly. People can always just sent me a private message or something if they are confused ([Contact] in someone's profile).