Aberforth Dumbledore

[pottersource]

“…I’m going to keep fighting even if you’ve given up!” “Who says I’ve given up?” Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 (2011)

[aberforthright-blog]

a day in the life || r&a

[aberforthright-blog]

ravenfawley

Raven glanced upwards to the older man with a lifted brow. “You’re herding a goat not two feet from me. Forgive me, for noticing.” She hummed, tilting her drink back to urge the liquid to pass through her lips. The dark ale’s taste lingered on her tongue as she set the pint glass back onto the worn table. “Though, you’re welcome to leave her. I don’t mind.” As much as her lupine side controlled her, the creature would come to no harm in her presence. Raven, to the contrary, actually thoroughly enjoyed animals. She didn’t have any of her own, but they were better friends than most humans.

“If you’re asking what I need though, another refill wouldn’t hurt.” Raven produced a few more coins, setting them on the table before pushing her emptied class towards the man. Her encounter with an ailing Emmeline had closed around an hour earlier, and Raven found herself needed alcohol to process through it all. There were quiet a few feelings rolling around inside the confines of her mind. She didn’t know if the other liked her, as a friend, of course. Raven wasn’t sure of anything, but she was aware she’d never cared for anyone’s opinion aside from Fenrir’s. This was a newfound problem she’d acquired, and she wished to rid herself of it soon enough.

Whether that come through detaching herself from Emmeline, unlikely, or finding some way to be softer with her. There had to be a way to make friends. Other people did it. Hell, even Fenrir had Rodolphus. Maybe, it was time that she had a friend of her own. Or at least, some version of a friend. It could be nice to hang around someone for conversation rather than protection.

Callie had settled, her front legs tucked under her body, her stare utterly dispassionate. She was easily the strongest personality of the Hog Head’s current herd, and Aberforth couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed by her obstinance. It’d be hypocritical, anyway. 

“I’m hardly herding her,” Aberforth’s response was gruff, caught up in a huff of a scoff. He let the toe of his boot slide forward to prod gently into Callie’s side once more for good measure, as if proving to himself and the dark haired woman sitting nearby alike just how futile the idea of getting the goat to move now that she had staked her claim on that particular bit of hardwood was. He let his gaze move from the goat to the woman as she continued speaking, his eyebrows lifting as a counter to hers, “Good to know.” His tone implied that he couldn’t care less, but Aberforth had an undeniable soft spot for his goats. He wouldn’t leave them in a potentially hostile situation. That he could break up any sort of altercations in his pub was a given, that he could ensure that there was no collateral on the part of the goats was less certain. And Aberforth didn’t take chances with collateral damage. As he spoke, his tone was flatly matter-of-fact, “I’d have left her regardless, the place belongs to her as much as it does me.” 

He stepped neatly around Callie, scooping up the coins off the table first and tucking them into the pocket of the apron he had around his waist, “Alright.” Taking her glass, he made short work of returning to the bar, filling the glass, and returning. He returned the glass to its place on the table before the woman, the impact sloshing ale over the glass’ rim so that a trickle of beer joined the faint stickiness of decades of spilled alcohol that spotted the table. “There you are.” 

And, well, fuck it. Aberforth was bored. Kicking a chair out from where it was tucked in at the woman’s table, Aberforth let himself drop into it and glanced to the woman, expecting some sort of commentary but not bothering to speak first himself. 

[aberforthright-blog]

comfort in a smudged glass || a&l

[aberforthright-blog]

lucius-a-malfoy

The Hog’s Head. Lucius had no idea what, exactly, had driven him to venture to the familiar Hogsmeade bar. However, after the ordeal of the night before, it felt right. As if returning to the roots of the relationship he was still unsure if he had lost completely or had only irrevocably changed would somehow help to soothe the aching bones now holding up the sorry shell. Of course, he kept the sorry shell bit tucked behind that mask of perfection which had served him well for over a decade now. He had slipped up with Amycus, unable to fully mask his distress. It didn’t mean he was suddenly content with looking like a mess to random strangers. So perhaps he might have read as tired to the general onlooker. He could handle that. He was tired, so there was an air of the genuine in it, at least.

By no means was he going to allow himself into some kind of cliche alcoholic stupor because he didn’t know how to process the way his heart had been broken, but he didn’t think that a few good nights of it would lead to the constancy of a liquid companion. The Hog’s Head, thankfully, was far enough away from his current most common haunts that he could perhaps overindulge once more without risking that loosened state which accompanied that action. Thankfully, he could avoid unnecessary emotional expression with the more stoic barkeep. He recalled that, even on Hogsmeade visits when he was still in school, the man kept to himself. He recognized him honestly only in passing, but that was perhaps for the best.

What was he doing here, honestly? He couldn’t frankly answer that question, except to say that his own home was his enemy. Though the room had been cleared of all traces of his altercation with Narcissa thanks to the studiousness of the house elves that tended to keep themselves scarce when their master was home. Doubtless, they had heard the fight, and the idea of it was humiliating. After all, he had had to resist the urge to deliver a swift kick to one of the tiny female elves with red hair that stuck out in every direction when he had woken on one of the chaises in the library still in his button down, trousers, and even his shoes only to earn a look that could only have been piteous. He wasn’t to be pitied by the creatures that cleaned his house. His servants pitied him, and he couldn’t enter the sitting room without feeling that residual sense of being overwhelmed, of losing his temper. Absolutely not. He would have to find some way to at least apologize to Narcissa for such contemptible behaviour, but he was still too raw for it at the moment. He resented how she had essentially closed off a section of his manor from him, but there was nothing to be done for it at the moment unfortunately.

Knowing that, he had ventured out of his house for a reprieve. He hadn’t even intended to end up here, but for such a small pub so near to Hogwarts, there was a surprising selection of scotch at the Hog’s Head. So his intention was clear even as he settled at the bar. His hand moved to the bridge of his nose to pinch with his thumb and index finger, thankful for the moment of silence before he was asked what he wanted.

“Whichever scotch has the most complex flavour,” he answered, finding a more elegant way of saying ‘whichever will knock me on my arse’.

The Malfoy boy- Aberforth didn’t know how old he was, and didn’t particularly care to find out, but it had been long enough since he could remember a Malfoy in Hogswarts robes that he imagined the wizard would reject the label rather vehemently- pinched the bridge of his nose, and Aberforth’s eyebrow inched up to meet the crook of the already-raised other. The gesture answered questions and raised others in equal measure. It explained why the man was here; the Hog’s Head wasn’t exactly the sort of establishment that drew in those of Malfoy’s social circles- a happy accident if Aberforth had ever seen one. Maybe it was the permanent layer of grit and dirt ground into the floorboards, or the generally foreboding presence of the regulars, but people who bled pure gold or whatever-the-fuck it was didn’t grace the dimly lit room very often. And so, nose pinched between fingers that were as elegant as everything about Lucius Malfoy, the wizard had come because something in his gilt life had gone to shite. Presumably. Not that Aberforth particularly cared one way or another.

“Right.” Aberforth let the glass he’d been cleaning drop onto the hard wood of the bar with a dull thud and turned, moving to poke through his whiskey with unhurried movements. He lingered, shifting bottles, for a beat longer than technically necessary. He’d known which bottle he was after and where it was the moment the Malfoy’s mouth had opened, after all. Aberforth had been the proprietor of the Hog’s Head for decades now, the place was as familiar as an annoyingly persistent stinging hex after a dirty brawl. He plucked the bottle, mostly full with a deep golden liquid, off the shelf and returned to his place across from Lucius, picking up a glass along the way.

Glass placed on the stained wood of the bar with another dull thud, Aberforth glanced up from the bottle as he unscrewed the top, “This one’s good.” He raised the bottle, uncapped, as if he was really giving the wizard an option and hadn’t practically poured the glass already, “I can wax on about the flavour profile if you’re that fond of my voice, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion you didn’t make the trek up here to hear me ramble.” 

Aberforth’s eyes returned to the glass before him, and he poured a generous two fingers into it. If the kid decided he wanted something else, well, Aberforth didn’t see the point of letting the scotch go to waste. It would be as good an excuse as any to have a drink. 

[aberforthright-blog]

the usual || k&a

[aberforthright-blog]

madebybigshadows

Maybe she should look into how often she was actually here – she’s sure some would say it was unbecoming, a single young woman spending most of her days in a (boorish) pub, but frankly she didn’t care. She split her time nicely between headquarters, her home and here; and that was how she liked it. People watching was amusing, especially given the sort of people that tended to frequent this place, and she could lose hours to this place between her reading and watching.

The barkeep was grumpy and surly, and to outsiders they’d wonder how he managed to retain customers given his complete and total disregard for people as a whole. There was no airs or graces about him and that she could respect. It was one of the reasons she kept coming back. He didn’t care about anyone and nor did she - she just wanted to drink and read in peace, so she didn’t feel quite so pathetic doing it alone at home.

She watched the whole show with the lad – he barely looked a day over seventeen, what with the peach fuzz over his top lip – entertained, her finger resting on the end of a paragraph so could pick up where she’d left off. She smiled at Aberforth as he ambled over, only doing so to earn a grumpy look in reply. What little interactions they had, she’d always enjoyed, if only because her goal was to one day get him to smile.

It was an unattainable goal, but it was the race that was fun, not crossing the finish line.

Moving her hands, she linked her fingers together and propped her chin on them, head tilting to the side a little. “Let’s shake things up a little. Do you have anything you’d recommend?”

So, she was after a conversation. There were worse people to trade a few words with- worse within the walls of the Hog’s Head, undoubtably, and Aberforth wasn’t even thinking of the kid who’d toddled in and was now cradling his glass as if it may bite him. He wasn’t fond of Katherine Pyrites, fondness wasn’t something he did- it, like so many other emotions, was far too cumbersome and messy- but he didn’t find her presence depressingly annoying, either. That she was often engrossed in a book while in the pub was definitely a factor in her favour. 

Not shifting from where he leant, propped on one arm, against the pillar jutting up from the floorboards to the exposed rafters of the low-slung ceiling, Aberforth raised his eyebrows at the witch, “There’s nothing wrong with routine.” But he obligingly glanced over his shoulder at the bottles shelves behind him regardless, as if he couldn’t summon up the exact contents of those shelves in his mind at the drop of a hat, so long had they remained essentially unchanged. 

Charade of looking and thinking about recommendations over, Aberforth returned his gaze to Pyrites, who was sitting with her chin propped in her hands, book open in front of her. “I’ve got a fairly passable gin out of Edinburgh. The Blishen Firewhiskey is getting dusty, people tend to go for the milder stuff. If you’re not feeling inclined towards liquor, the cider’s alright.” Aberforth rattled off his recommendations in a tone of faint boredom that was undercut by something toeing the line of the sardonic. 

“Anything caught your eye, then?” 

[aberforthright-blog]

comfort in a smudged glass || a&l

The Hog’s Head saw, as any pub was wont to do, a wide variety of patrons through its door. On Hogsmeade weekends the main room would be populated even more sparsely than usual by those who were quiet and solitary enough to become regulars, peppered instead with particularly adventurous or fool-hardy students who thought the fact that they weren’t in uniform meant that they were indistinguishable from the adults around them. Evenings could mean a slow trickle of customers and a subsequent early night, or a stream of witches and wizards leaving work and unwilling to turn their sights towards home just yet. The worn, scuffed floorboards and low-slung ceiling, its support beams exposed freely to the air, had witnessed everyone from dark-cloaked figures Aberforth was almost certain were vampires rather down on their luck, and, as was the case that evening, Lucius Malfoy.

Above the low hum of the conversations of patrons scattered throughout the room, the heavy front door creaked, hinges squeaking out in protest at the movement. The noise, shrill as it was, didn’t turn any heads in the pub. Aberforth had noted the pressure on the hinges years ago now, but almost immediately discarded the idea of spending a few moments to charm them back to their full capability. The noise was, after all, a decent bell if he kept one ear open, expecting to be alerted of another body to deal with a few moments in advance. And so it was when Malfoy pushed open the door, stepping in. Aberforth spared him a only the briefest of glances before returning his attention to the glass he’d been rhythmically wiping for five minutes now. 

Aberforth made a point of distancing himself from the world, but it was hard not to know a Malfoy when you saw one. He’d picked up far more than he really cared to know working in the Hog’s Head- things had been much easier and less annoying back in the days when he’d roamed freely through the muggle and magical worlds, easier at least when it came to dealing with people. He’d much prefer his line of work if everyone were plunged into the sort of shrouds of anonymity that had enveloped the strangers Aberforth knew he'd only know for a night. Names complicated things.

Lucius made his way to the bar, Aberforth actively listening out for the pace of footfalls approaching, and waiting for the wizard to appear in his periphery. Just for the hell of it, Aberforth stubbornly kept his gaze downwards, wiping the glass as if it were the most interesting and important object in the world. When he did look up, it was to meet Malfoy’s eyes with an expectant eyebrow raised over what was an otherwise exceptionally unmoved expression. “Evening. What’ll it be?” 

@lucius-a-malfoy

[aberforthright-blog]

a day in the life || r&a

Callie shifted, and Aberforth glanced over at the sound of hooves softly shifting against the well-worn floorboards as she woke up and began to move. The goat found her feet slowly, shifting into a standing position and stretching where she stood, side pressed up against the waist-high stone and wooden wall that held up the long, continuous slat of wood that served as the pub’s sticky and scuffed bar. Stretching done, she ambled over to where Aberforth was leaning against the back wall, coming to a stop leaning her weight against his legs. She looked up at him, and he let his gaze flick briefly down to her, caught up in a moment of silent communication. He let his hand drop to her head, petting her behind the ears with a gentleness that he hadn't afforded to a human in what might have been decades, and that stood completely at odds with the stoically unbothered stare he cast out over the main room of his pub.   

The Hog’s Head’s little herd of three goats had their run of the place. Aberforth had been informed once, years ago, by some spineless Ministry envoy with trembling knees and wide eyes that technically pubs weren’t allowed to have goats roaming about inside, or sleeping behind the bar, or curled up under tables. He’d left with his tail between his legs. Aberforth had decided long ago that he was best off caring as little as possible about as few people as possible, but he unabashedly cared for the goats. It was an indulgence, a silly, nostalgia-driven bit of madness that had compelled him to buy a few goats within a year of ending up with the Hog’s Head on his hands and properly settling down for the first time as a consequence, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. It was less risky to love a goat than it was to love a human. Goats came with a pre-determined life expectancy that would only see them through their teens. Goats were also far less likely than humans to hurt you. 

Absently petting Callie, Aberforth let his gaze moved over the patrons of the pub, expression inscrutable. In the corner a group of relatively young wizards and witches nursed drinks, occasionally breaking in bursts of laughter, or raised voices. Near the door a dark-cloaked figure sat with a number of empty glasses and another, half-filled, before them. A few people loitered, sitting at or standing near the bar. A handful of other tables were occupied by customers or empty glasses Aberforth hadn’t bothered to collect yet. His attention shifted back to the goat leaning heavily against his legs, and eh, what the hell, Aberforth gave her a final pat before removing himself from between Callie and the wall and moved around the bar to begin collecting dirty glasses. 

He had a mug dangling from a finger and three pint glasses tucked between his forearm and side by the time Callie plodded out from the bar looked around, walking over next to a table where a woman was sitting alone before flopping down to lay on the floor in an unceremonious sprawl. Aberforth glanced over and sighed, “Oi.” He rounded a table, closing the distance and lightly prodded the goat in the side with the toe of his boot. She looked up at him, unmoved- both literally and emotionally. He heaved yet another sigh, and glanced up from the floor to the woman, eyebrow raising, “You want something? Or are you just staring for the hell of it?” 

@ravenfawley

[aberforthright-blog]

the usual || k&a

In an ideal world, Aberforth would give people their drinks and they would quietly drink them and leave in a reasonable amount of time, refraining from engaging in conversation and certainly not having the audacity to either say their name enough or have others say it to the point that he had no choice but to pick up on it over time. In an ideal world Aberforth probably wouldn’t be running a pub- as far as professions went, bartending wasn’t exactly conducive to being left well alone, after all. And yet he was making do with what he had, and ideally people wouldn’t expect him to be their best friend just because he’d given them a pint. Aberforth stared expectantly at the wizard fumbling for his change in front of him. The boy looked barely out of Hogwarts, and sounded it too- it’d been painful to watch as he’d ambled up to the bar and made a stumbling attempt at nonchalance in ordering his drink. Aberforth had let the glass hit the bar with a solid thump and a slosh of alcohol just to break up the stream of words and spare them all the pain of that particular slowly crashing train. The boy finally fished out the correct coins and handed them over to Aberforth with a smile. Aberforth met it with a blank stare, sticking the money in his pocket so as to not break eye contact. The kid scurried off to a corner satisfyingly quickly. 

“Alright, anyone else? Or are you just taking up space in my pub for no particular reason?”  Aberforth spoke, turning on his heel to look down the bar, gaze skating over the handful of people who were hunched over drinks at various stools down its length and catching on a familiar face. 

Unlike many of the young pests the Hog’s Head was occasionally overrun with, Katherine Pyrites wasn’t particularly chatty. She didn’t run around demanding attention, often sitting and drinking in front of an open book and keeping to herself. But as a consequence of the amount of time she’d spent in the place, Aberforth had learned her name. He couldn’t really bring himself to resent her for it, however. As far as regulars went, she wasn’t completely annoying. 

He was in no particular rush to close the distance between them, a fact made abundantly obvious by the way he straightened a shelf of mugs and tucked a cloth through a cabinet handle on his way down the bar. He braced a hand in an absent gesture against the support pillar that came down like the trunk of a dented and darkened tree, the bar built around and on either side of it. “What’ll it be, Pyrites?” 

 @madebybigshadows

[burningstarsirius-blog]

Over a Pint | Sirius & Aberforth

[aberforthright-blog]

burningstarsirius

“You never know, it may happen. I do tend to be full of surprises. Also, now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll see to it that it becomes a goal of mine.” Sirius was probably continuing to be an annoying pain in Aberforth’s ass, but he did so enjoy that role and the fact that the old wizard had mentioned his quips probably meant that they weren’t overly annoying. That was something. He rolled his eyes at the ‘advice’ about confidence. “I don’t need to tell myself that when others do it so eloquently, present company excluded. Though I’ve never lacked in confidence, either, so I suppose I have it pretty good either way.” He didn’t need Aberforth to acknowledge his talents, he knew they were vast, but picking at Sirius’ ego was at least sure to vaguely annoy him. Granted, it was probably just pay back for how much he was annoying Aberforth.

Sirius didn’t miss Abeforth’s hopeful look down the bar and Sirius glanced that way too, grinning when he saw no one needed to be served at the moment. Excellent. His eyebrows went up at the other’s almost chuckle but laughed a little himself, sure it was meant to be a dig but not taking it that way. “Exactly. It’s so much easier just to serve drinks properly and not inspire me to retaliation if you were to do something to my drink.” He contemplated his pint as he mused, not really meaning it as a threat so much as a reminder that he was one of the best pranksters Hogwarts had ever seen and that those skills could easily be used outside the castle walls. Sirius rarely let someone do something to him without striking back in some fashion.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Sirius replied, innocently, though the sarcasm was not lost on him. He knew he’d caught Aberforth now even if it meant revealing what he knew, or at least what he’d glimpsed. Still, it seemed to have prompted Aberforth into being more honest, finally, which was what Sirius had wanted in the first place. He sipped at his pint again as he waited and listened, and what he got was well worth all the games before which made Sirius’ eyes light up. So Aberforth was connected to Moody, in fact had a vested interest in seeing Moody alive and breathing. Interesting. It also helped confirm Sirius’ suspicions that Aberforth was linked to the Order, though it wasn’t exactly proof. At least it meant Aberforth hadn’t been doing anything shady or wasn’t, Merlin forbid, on the other side of things. “That’s quite an errand.” Sirius started, not wanting to seem too eager about this ever so important information he’d just been given. “Especially since Moody’s a rather hard man to get an appointment with, Head of the Aurors and all. Keeps him rather busy. Also, if you were just checking in to see that he was still alive, you could’ve easily done that in a number of other ways. I wonder why it was so important to meet with him in person?” He quirked an eyebrow, wondering if the fount of information was going to stop with that one tidbit and sincerely hoping it wouldn’t.

Great. Now Sirius Black was going to come waltzing into his pub with a goal. At least it was highly likely that Aberforth would be able to see the moment some quip or another had occurred to him from a mile away, that the kid expected a laugh or a scandalized gasp, hand over mouth, was written all over his face. Aberforth shot him a completely blank look over the surface of the bar, “I’ll look forward to it.” He wouldn’t. But Black, for all his annoying foibles and general air of a little shite, didn’t directly disturb the operation of the Hog’s Head (most of the time), and so Aberforth tolerated him. He was good for a distraction, if nothing else. 

A good distraction that was apparently a bit prickly as to whether his confidence was deserved. But that was to be expected. Sirius was painfully young. And an idiot. Aberforth nodded, “Sure, kid,” eyebrows quirked only slightly, inevitably at least slightly sarcastic. 

“Retaliation wasn’t exactly a concern of mine.” Aberforth knew about Sirius and his lot’s reputation when they had been students- he lived and worked in Hogsmeade, after all, and even if he hadn’t given them alcohol before he technically should’ve and heard them chattering away about their grand plans at the table in the corner, news from Hogwarts had a way of trickling through the walls of the pub, welcome or not. Aberforth had no doubt that if Sirius put his mind to it he could pull of some prank or another on Aberforth. And yet, the question remained whether the kid would go through with it under threat of banishment from the pub. “It was more along the lines of me not being arsed to go to the trouble. That works too as well though, if you’d like.”

This was made much more annoying by how unabashedly pleased with himself the wizard across the bar looked. Perhaps it was best not to consider what conclusions Sirius might have been flying to with the bit of information he’d wrestled out of Aberforth. Bloody Moody and the bloody Order. Nonsense like this wouldn’t be happening in his pub if Alastor hadn’t dragged him into this mess. Sirius’ leading questions and measured interest earned him a narrow-eyed stare from Aberforth. “If you walk past the damned receptionists I think you’ll find that appointments cease to matter entirely.” He shifted, leaning against a support pillar that came down behind the bar, letting the quiet expand between he and Sirius, eyes never shifting from the kid at his bar. “And you’ll continue to wonder, won’t you, because I have a sneaking suspicion that my saying I haven’t got an owl won’t satisfy you.” 

[aberforthright-blog]

after hours | open

[aberforthright-blog]

rougishscarlett

“I am crying to my fucking friends about it,” rebuked Scarlett, a finger lifted from the curve of her mug to point accusingly at the warlock behind the bar. “We’re mates, aren’t we Abe? Buddy ol’ pal?”

He looked entirely unamused by her and, for some reason, she couldn’t have found it any more amusing. Aberforth was such a crotchety bastard. Every time he looked at her with those disinterested blue eyes she felt downright tickled. She wasn’t actively trying to annoy the living-fossil but if he was going to be a grumpy gargoyle then, honestly, what choice did she have?

Also, if there was anyone in the whole damn world that could relate to her familial plight it was bloody Aberforth Dumbledore. No, she didn’t know the details. But family drama was family drama and it was common knowledge that the Dumbledore brothers were about as close as opposing magnets. She neither expected or desired a heart to heart from the man. Talking at someone who at least understood was better than revealing her sensitive underbelly to someone who couldn’t relate but wanted to help.

If Aberforth was guilty of anything it sure as all hell wasn’t wanting to help. Least of all when it came to chatty hand arounds like her. Scarlett didn’t hold his apathy against him. If anything it was something she admired a great deal. Why save a world that never gave a shite about her? She came from two worlds and the same could be said for both of them. The muggles hadn’t care about her as a dirty kid running the streets, and the wizarding world didn’t care about her as a directionless adult doing what she had to to survive. Fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em all.

She about choked on her mead based concoction when Aberforth answered how the Hog’s Head had gotten its name. He’d supplied the explanation so casually Scarlett didn’t dare believe him. “You’re full of shit, Aberforth.” Taking another swig of her drink, she claimed, “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, old man. I got your number.”

The insulted gasp that cut through her, hand to her chest, expression outraged, was entirely for show. “They are not terrible. They were will thought out and constructed out of love for this here fine establishment. I will have you know that I am an excellent namer of things.” Her cup lifted for an example, of which she was most pleased upon Aberforth’s raving approval.

“You say ‘less fucking awful’ but I know you mean ‘stroke of pure genius’. I’ve decoded your cantankerousness. Careful Aberforth, I can read you like an open book.” She set her cup down on the bar and leaned forward to rest her elbows on its surface. Staring at the man’s back while he stocked the shelves and did his best to ignore her.

“Where should I start cleaning?”

Aberforth glanced from Scarlett’s accusatory finger and back to her face with a long, slow stare, expression utterly unmoved when his eyes once again met hers. He raised his eyebrows, “You seem very convinced, so it must be true.” His delivery, scaldingly deadpan, more than implied his skepticism. “If being your mate means I get cried to, I’m not sure I’m interested. Doesn’t seem particularly worthwhile on my part.” He had enough people coming in and talking to him because he was the one trapped behind the bar, after all. Though the type who spilled all their sob stories out like so much beer in front of Aberforth generally didn’t last long in the Hog’s Head. Dropping in the odd sarcastic rejoinder didn’t keep him from getting bored for long, after all.

As much as Aberforth was used to the whispers and looks that came with being the great and good Albus Dumbledore’s unsuccessful, unsociable, and generally disappointing younger brother to the point of being bored to tears by it all, he was more than willing to let the subject drop when Scarlett let it go. Rooting through the gory details of his messy past wasn’t Aberforth’s ideal pastime while closing his pub. 

Watching Scarlett catch up to what he’d said about pig skulls was far more entertaining. He’d had an eye on her when he dropped in the explanation unceremoniously just in case, and he hadn’t been disappointed as Scarlett made a satisfyingly comical noise into her glass. He didn’t bother to maintain any sort of sincerity to his claims- it was hardly worth the trouble. As much as he might voice his incredulity and raise his eyebrows, Scarlett was clever enough. “Ah, well, my memory of my first visit to the place-” he slapped a beam  with an open palm, “isn’t exactly perfect. Maybe I’m old, maybe I was pissed.” It wouldn’t be unlikely. Aberforth had spent a considerable amount of time in those days comfortably drunk. He shrugged before letting out an exhale that was almost a snort of a laugh, “Anyway. I’ve never claimed not to be full of shit, and I’ve never claimed the Hog’s Head’s a particularly good name, either. But it’s it’s name.” It hadn’t occurred to him, in the first weeks after he’d ended up with a pub on his hands and very little inclination to run it or direction as to how to do so, that he could change it’s name, and after that it’d felt like it was too late. Not that he thought he’d ever give serious thought to changing it. Any other name would be wrong.

Scarlett’s display of shock and horror probably would’ve inspired more of a reaction from a group of listless ghosts. Aberforth took in her outraged expression at a glance and set to cleaning off bottles in practiced strokes of a cloth. “You put thought into them? I didn’t think they could get any worse, but I think they just did.” He put down a half-empty bottle with a more pronounced thud than was perhaps strictly necessary. 

“I’ll just have to put up a ban on you, then. Can’t have you lounging about, taking up space, if you’re going to spill all my secrets, can I, kid?” The threat was an empty one. Aberforth had banned people from his pub before, and he was unwaveringly firm in his conviction after passing such a judgement. Scarlett was annoying, and he still hadn’t dismissed the idea of kicking her out, but banning her was unlikely. Given she didn’t say anything too annoying.

“Other side of the room.” Aberforth’s response was addressed to the cabinet he’d opened up to sift through the back stock stored there, the prickliness a sort of absentminded, knee-jerk reaction. He straightened, and cast a glance over his shoulder, “The bar needs to be wiped down. Also, check the stools.” 

[partyended]

[burningstarsirius-blog]

Over a Pint | Sirius & Aberforth

[aberforthright-blog]

burningstarsirius

“I don’t need any help sleeping at night, thank you, though sometimes I get some anyway.” Sirius flashed his patented grin, even if it was lost on the likes of Aberforth. He still used it whenever he could, it worked surprisingly well a lot of the time. It was kind of refreshing that the old bartender didn’t react negatively to his crude statements, though it just made Sirius want to up the ante until he did get a reaction. Sirius sighed as Aberforth refused to acknowledge Sirius’ mouth and it’s various skills but waved it off. “I suppose I am. Luckily, you’re not the crowd I’m aiming to impress with it. I just thought you might have to acknowledge how talented it is, since it’s so obvious.” Sirius did so get a kick out of being an obnoxious little shit most of the time.

Abeforth rather disappointingly, if a little sarcastically, acknowledged just how old he was. Most people didn’t particularly like it when one pointed out their age, but then Abeforth was clearly not and likely had never been like most people. It still seemed like ages ago to Sirius that he’d been in third year and he was going to stand by that. It had been a decade ago, after all, and that was nearly half Sirius’ lifetime so it should seem far away, at least that’s what he figured.

Sirius didn’t really stop talking as Aberforth trundled off to get his pint, not bothered by the way it was shoved at him a moment later. He picked it up and took a grateful sip before answering. “Possibly not, but you’d have to be quite tricky to do something to it while I was watching you.” Not that Aberforth couldn’t be tricky, but he doubted the old man would really do anything to any of his drinks. Sirius’ eyebrows shot up when Aberforth tried to pass it off as some sort of normal errand. “True, you do occasionally leave and run errands, though it’s always vaguely shocking when it happens. But I’m entirely certain those errands don’t normally have something to do with the Ministry.” It was a little more plain than Sirius wanted to be but dancing around the subject hadn’t gotten him very far so he’d have to see if a more direct approach worked.

“You know, I’d be pleasantly surprised if one of your clever bits managed to shock me, Black.” His tone was utterly unambiguous in implying just how unimpressive Aberforth found Sirius’ joking. And yet, that he’d acknowledged them at all was something of an indication of the fact that he didn’t find the younger wizard’s efforts entirely annoying. At least Sirius Black spouting off nonsense passed the time. He shot the boy a skeptical look, responding at a mutter half to himself, “And thank Merlin for that,” His voice raised in volume, addressing Sirius, “What is it people say? Confidence is half the battle? Some shite like that. Anyway, there you are. Keep telling yourself that, I suppose.” 

Sirius’ pint securely in his hand, Aberforth cast a semi-exaggerated hopeful glance down the bar to no avail. There was no one to serve, and therefore nothing to be done, really, but entertain Sirius’ whims. Damn his traitorous regulars for nursing their drinks for so bloody long. 

Returning his attention to the wizard seated on the other side of the bar, Aberforth let out a huff of air in something that vaguely resembled a laugh. “You’re right. Not worth the effort, is it?” 

And there it was. Pushing Sirius into laying out his cards outright was a feeble sort of victory, especially since they both knew that his having been at the Ministry was undeniably notable. Which is why Aberforth should have avoided the place entirely. Never mind the fact that the alternative would have been a visit to the headquarters, which was arguably worse on multiple levels than the Ministry was. “You don’t pick up your shopping from the Ministry, then?” The sarcasm was a default, and Aberforth leaned over to pick up a rag and began shifting bottles and piles of napkins and the various detritus that peppered the bar top to clean under them, clearly in no rush at all to give Sirius a straight answer. “See, kid, the thing about being an old bastard like me-” his lips quirked into the barest echo of an amused smile, “is that you get to know a frankly absurd number of people. And sometimes some people are a bit more useful to keep in touch with than others. I was running an errand at the Ministry, the errand that is making sure Alastor Moody is still alive. The arse owes me, he’s not allowed to push daisies until I say so.” That was enough truth that it might just satiate Black, but enough ambiguity that the information would pass by as a curiosity. At least Aberforth hoped so. Wishful thinking, probably. 

[professorminerva-mcgonagall]

News at the Bottom of a Glass || Minerva & Aberforth

[aberforthright-blog]

professorminerva-mcgonagall

Minerva met the gaze without so much as a flinch. She understood, better than most. She’d seen most of these ‘young member’ almost everyday for seven years; watched them grow from children to adults, helped them move through difficult times, listened while they cried or scolded them when they were bad. She would be the first to admit she by no means considered herself maternal but… Minerva had been so involved in their lives it stilled her heart every time she knew one of them was out there fighting while she was hidden behind the impenetrable walls of Hogwarts. Simply because she didn’t allow herself the luxury to speak aloud or dwell upon these feelings didn’t mean they wouldn’t press upon her every day and every night.

“Caradoc Dearborn is not a weak man.” she repeated, as though offended Aberforth couldn’t come to the conclusion by himself. “He will not tell them anything and you’re a fool if you think he will.” Her words were sharp as knives but she knew he wouldn’t cower from them just as she’d not cowered from his gaze. Each was much too set in their ways and beliefs, “Give into doubt and the battle’s half lost.” She believed in her comrades, in their cause; though would bring back safety to their world, however they could.  

She knew there wasn’t, but couldn’t help but want to come to Alastor’s aid, to declare that he would see this matter dealt with but held her tongue. Their relationship wasn’t exactly spoken about and she’d prefer it remain that way. “In the interim, should you hear of anything I expect you to go through the proper channels?” her tone leaving no room for argument.

Aberforth shrugged, the gesture a deliberately contrary response to her words. That he’d expressed the brunt of his doubt through a shrug was only a nod to the grudging respect the professor had earned from the man. “I’ve been called a fool plenty of times before, it’s lost it’s bite.” His response was delivered as if a musing on the weather, and his cadence and expression didn’t change as he focused in on the parts of Minerva’s manifesto that had actually mattered. “For his sake, and all of ours, I hope you’re right. There, that enough optimism to satisfy you?” 

Optimism. It seemed fruitless to dedicate himself to pipe dreams, unnecessarily cruel to tell himself or anyone else that everything would be alright when it so clearly wouldn’t be. Nothing ever was. Aberforth doubted. His entire worldview was peppered with doubts and skepticism. Changing that, even if he ever were to think it worthwhile to try to, seemed impossible.

Aberforth raised an eyebrow as Minerva spoke again, all authoritative solemnity. There was no doubt that that was Minerva’s professor voice that he was on the receiving end of. He huffed a laugh, pushing off the bar where he’d been leaning against it with a slight shake of his head, “Of course. I jump at the opportunity to communicate information through convoluted paranoia every time I can, you know that.” 

[aberforthright-blog]

Ministerial Matters | A&A

[aberforthright-blog]

talldarkandmoody

Alastor’s hand moved to rest over his chest, right about his heart. The feigned hurt and betrayal clear in his expression and body language. “Oatmeal raisin? Why you gotta do me like that, Abe?”

He nodded as Abe continued. Whilst he included Abeforth in the scenario he didn’t really expect the man to go out and do anything. No, recon like that needed to be done by two who could move unseen. People who could take on a long journey like these. “I’ll send Riggs and Jones, they can handle leaving for weeks at a time.” No one waiting for either of those boys at home. “I’ll have them track the Giants, see if there’s anything of note.”

Sitting back again, his fingers reached out to fiddle with the dried out quill on his desk. He watched idly as the feathers swayed from the movements and he wandered if it would ever end? Probably not. “Thanks for the heads up, I appreciate the perilous journey you had to make to get here…”

As Alastor enacted an exaggerated betrayal at the hands of Aberforth’s non-existent cookies, the older wizard looked on, unimpressed. Nothing in his expression revealed the fact that he was now certainly going to send Moody an absurd number of oatmeal raisin cookies when the opportunity presented itself. Likely just long enough from now that the auror had begun to forget about the joke entirely. “Even if they have shriveled fruit in them they’re still full of sugar, Moody. I think you’ll recover.” 

He nodded, the names conjuring only vague memories of people he’d tried very hard not to know. Aberforth knew a good number of Order members and wasn’t particularly happy about it. “Alright. Glad I could facilitate a lovely camping holiday for them, then.”

Alastor’s distinction of the trip through the Ministry as a perilous journey earned him a genuine chuckle from Aberforth- a rare commodity. “You’d better appreciate it, I won’t be making the trek back here for at least a couple of years if I get my way. Though now that I’m here I’m considering whether I should loiter around looking over your shoulder until the end of the day when all the pencil-pushers have clocked out, or make a run for it as soon as possible. Difficult decision.”

[burningstarsirius-blog]

Over a Pint | Sirius & Aberforth

[aberforthright-blog]

burningstarsirius

“What? And here I thought we had a genuine connection!” Sirius played up the drama of the moment, putting a hand over his heart as if he truly were shocked but dropped the act a moment later, smirking again. He was sure Aberforth didn’t really dislike him that much, he was too charming for most people to truly dislike him, especially since the older wizard had been giving him booze for so long. Surely he would never have done so if he wasn’t at least slightly fond of Sirius and the other Marauders, deep, deep down. As such, Sirius never really took Ab’s grouchiness very seriously, just chalking it up to the fact that Aberforth needed to get out more or get some kind of companion or something to keep him from being such a surly arse all the time.

The wink seemed to displease Aberforth as much as the rest of Sirius in general did, but he ignored the look it earned him and kept going. “Doesn’t your job include being a sympathetic ear or what have you and offering sage advice in the age old manner of all bartenders?” Sirius couldn’t seem to help but tease, it was just too much fun, especially with Aberforth. “Also, I’d hold your criticism if I were you. There are plenty of people who quite enjoy my mouth and what it does, thank you very much.” Sirius was never above being crude or risque and he especially got a kick out of it doing it with the older generation, since they took so much more offense to it.

“Cheapest? Please, I haven’t drank that swill since first year. I’ll have your finest, thank you. It has been rather more than a week since I was in third year but I assume at your age all the decades just blend together, don’t they?” Sirius couldn’t imagine being old, it wasn’t even a possibility that seemed real. If he survived the war, and that was seeming more and more like a big if, he’d still be an Auror and there was a reason there were only a few that even made it to Moody’s age. “But come now, don’t be so coy, we both know you crawled out of your hidey hole recently. You could just tell me why, or I could start asking around and letting more than a few people know you were actually seen outside, which would cause quite a stir, don’t you think?” Sirius was no fool. The way Aberforth had been skulking, it was clear he hadn’t wanted anyone to know he was there and it was only sheer chance that Sirius had happened to see him when he did. He was willing to bet the old man wanted that visit kept secret and hoped he’d tell Sirius the reason for it to keep it that way.

Aberforth wasn’t even entirely certain what a genuine connection with a person might entail at this point in his life. People were best kept at arm’s length- it was easier for all involved, and Aberforth had developed a proclivity for friendship developed only under duress and by way of a long, slow, process of chipping away at his walls. Even then, Aberforth would have to be hard pressed to verbally acknowledge that he did, in fact, have a handful of people for whom no better descriptor existed than friendship. However, any sort of a connection with Sirius Black was something he would deny until the end of days. The kid was far too cheery and irritating to be anything more than a spectacle to be faintly amused by in small doses. Prolonged exposure would likely be dangerous. “Right. If it helps you sleep at night.” 

The thing about Sirius and the general crowd of reckless idiots who gravitated around him was that they were all far to fond of talking. That Fletcher had been in recently, talking non-stop, and as Sirius spewed words out of his mouth and acted as though every syllable was the height of humor, Aberforth looked on, unfazed. “It’s sweet of them to humor you, but if you’re looking for praise I’ve hardly been impressed with it’s performance. You’re working the wrong crowd, kid.” Crude insinuations were hardly shocking to Aberforth. Before working in a pub he’d spent years being the reckless little shite on the other side of the bar. 

“Exactly.” Aberforth’s tone was unmistakably sarcastic, but there was some truth to the words regardless. Ninety-four might not be near death for a wizard- though Aberforth wouldn’t be terribly surprised if he ended up dead somewhere before the decades he surely had left were spent- but it was still a long time. In the grand scheme of things, Sirius Black hadn’t been a third year all that long ago. 

Turning his back on the wizard to scoop up a glass and move down the bar to the taps, Aberforth didn’t acknowledge Sirius as he kept speaking. In an ideal world the kid would shut his mouth and then they could sit around quietly and all ignore the fact that he had apparently been less than successful in avoiding notice while speaking to Moody. Pint poured, Aberforth shoved the glass unceremoniously across the bar to Sirius, quirking an eyebrow, “Blackmailing the person giving you your drink hardly seems clever.” There was no real malice there, the threat empty. Aberforth couldn’t be bothered to try to be convincing. “What’s it to you that I occasionally have errands to run? It’s no secret when I leave, Black, I usually just close the entire pub when I’m out.” That they both knew he hadn’t been out buying groceries was a moot point. Acknowledging he’d been speaking to Moody felt too close to acknowledging his involvement.

[professorminerva-mcgonagall]

News at the Bottom of a Glass || Minerva & Aberforth

[aberforthright-blog]

professorminerva-mcgonagall

Honestly, why else would she be here? Minerva rarely partook in social calls for the sake of keeping up with friends. If people wanted to see her she wasn’t hard to find and there were always owls to send to keep abreast of the less important events. She and Aberforth weren’t in the business of sending weekly letters to see how the other was; the idea alone was slightly ludicrous. In a similar vein it too seemed ludicrous that Caradoc would be the one they lost… she’d not liked to think about such things but some names came more readily to her mind in the form of ‘weak links’ than others… she’d protect them all of course but; Caradoc was one of few she’d though she wouldn’t need to worry about.  

“They’re young.” she replied simply, as though it explained it all. Frankly, it did. She was no great age (in wizard terms) but her few decades more than the younger members of the Order were enough to inform her of the cruelty of the world, of what it could take and what could easily be taken. “It’s a lesson.” she added, though it was almost painful to say it. Minerva held her head high though and would standby the sentence; if Caradoc’s capture and (by this point) likely death could serve to add life saving caution to the behaviour of others then… Well he’d not lost for nothing. “I know.” the words fell heavier than anything else said thus far, everything changes when you say it out loud… “But he’s strong, he won’t tell them anything.” she had that much faith in his stubborn streak; and maybe in the back of her mind she had hope (not faith) that he may yet be found and returned to them. “Alastor is doing his best,” she said sharply, then her eyes narrowed further, “And believe me, I’ll see to it personally no one has any stupid ideas of how to deal with this.” She’d turn them into ferrets if it kept them going out half-cocked.  

They were young. Aberforth had heard all the arguments- that the war weighed heavy on everyone’s shoulders, aged them all prematurely. That the violence was inevitable and inescapable and that the best way to ensure some modicum of safety for the young was to give them the tools to defend themselves. It was all unconvincing, and overlooked the horrible reality of those just barely out of school marching off into the darkness to face foes with decades of experience in exacting pain and ensuring destruction. Aberforth could argue against their involvement until his face turned blue, but it wouldn’t change anything. Instead he just nodded, every line of his expression conveying the depth of his disapproval even as he agreed. They were painfully, stupidly young.

And yet, Aberforth didn’t claim to know the majority of the Order well. Making a point of distancing oneself from a group generally resulted in a fair number of holes in one’s understanding of said group’s members, after all. What he knew of Caradoc was a series of vague and brief interactions, and second hand tales. He did trust Minerva’s judgement, however, “There’s that then, at least. I’d air my doubts, but you know him better than I do, clearly. Never mind that I figure my doubts are expected, at this point.” 

He shrugged as Minerva’s voice sharpened, unfazed by the narrowed eyes, “He always is.” It was a fact, really. Aberforth thought much more of Alastor’s leadership than his brother’s. Alastor, at least, was fairly forthright about his plans and aims. “Good.” 

[aberforthright-blog]

after hours | open

[aberforthright-blog]

uhmeliabones

Amelia snorted. Aberforth wasn’t wrong. She’d asked for where she was. She’d raised hell and busted ass to get there, too. Sometimes she wished she were less… involved, but then she’d wake up in the dead of night, a new clue sticking out in her mind, and she’d remember that she was doing something right. “You are exactly right,” she said simply. “But I think I’d be bored doing anything else. Maybe I’m a bit soft in the head.” She shrugged and smiled, taking a sip of her drink.

“You know what, that might actually be entertaining. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen me and gone pale. The older fellows at the Ministry are all used to me by now.” She stared into her glass. “I don’t shock them anymore, the old buzzards.” The liquid glinted as she swirled it around. “Damn it. Two rounds and I sound like Edgar.” She pulled a face. “He’s got me exercising with him in the morning, says I’m out of shape. I should head out.”

She took another sip. There was no reason to rush, but this would be her last round. “I appreciate the company, Aberforth. And the whisky.”

Aberforth nodded. Amelia’s answer sounded just about right. She wasn’t one to stay out of the action, and there was a drive in her that was unmistakable. That didn’t mean he didn’t think she was fighting a useless battle. Though someone would be doing it anyway, if she weren’t, and he figured they probably wouldn't be doing it as well. Which counted for something. Not much, but something. “Fair enough. Everyone’s soft in the head about something or another, you’ve just got the shite luck of getting bored and feeling righteous. ‘Spose there’s worse vices.”

His laugh was a huff of air, really, the hint of a chuckle that was deep and amused in the most removed and sarcastic way possible. “It’s not as though you gave me much of a choice, standing outside, looking grim.” Aberforth hadn't been too hard pressed to let Amelia into the pub though. As unlikely as he was to admit it, her presence wasn’t entirely annoying. She was acceptable company. 

“Hell if I know why you’ve decided to exercise with your brother, but if you’re leaving to get some sleep in before whatever that is, I won’t stop you.” He grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the bar, turning and wandering a bit along the back wall to return it to his home on the shelf. When he spoke again, it was with his back to Amelia, “If you’d like to put the fear of the big, bad Amelia Bones in some tiny little troublemakers, come by on a weekend. Seems like it’d be decent entertainment.” 

[professorminerva-mcgonagall]

News at the Bottom of a Glass || Minerva & Aberforth

[aberforthright-blog]

professorminerva-mcgonagall

The Transfiguration Professor was many things, but rarely was she subtle; there was no need. When Minerva wanted something said or done she’d say or do it, often with a severity that left fear in her wake. She was not so foolish as to believe she could force anything from Aberforth, but she had little doubt he’d refuse her. The pair had an understanding of sorts in regards to these matters.

She could, however send fearsome glares at any patron who approached the bar looking for a refill and that perhaps hurried them along; there was no worry for his business, the Head had steady regulars and one early night would do his Gringotts vault no harm. When he finally deigned to pay attention to her properly Minerva couldn’t help but spend a moment glancing at those piercing eyes, so very much like the ones of the man she most admired, who she was proud to call her friend. In her younger years she’d looked upon Aberforth with disdain for not being all his brother was but, now? She could see his worth. But as always she never spoke it aloud. She released a small breath at his answer and knocked back her fire-whiskey without so much as a wince. “Some of the others,” the younger ones in particular, “Still believe Mr. Dearbon… Caradoc, is working deep in his own affairs but I think the time has come to begin considering a more, realist explination.” He was either being tortured or already growing cold in a ditch. Both scenario’s cause an uncomfortable twist in her gut she hid behind a stern expression.

If Aberforth had had any doubt Minerva was there in relation to Caradoc Dearborn’s disappearance- he didn’t, it was hardly an unsolvable puzzle and he was no idiot- it would’ve been erased by the lapse of silence his response garnered, and the way the air left the professor’s lungs in something that was almost a sigh before she knocked back the rest of her drink. He met her gaze as she spoke, and didn’t bother to in any way obscure his own sigh. The expression of emotion conveyed through it was just as blunt as the verbal exchange crossing the top of the bar. 

“Some of the others have fucking tenuous grips on the concept of mortality. Whether or not the fact that they can’t entirely wrap their head around the fact that they’re likely to die unpleasantly is because their children isn’t exactly relevant, but I thought I’d mention it anyway. Because it’s still reckless.” Aberforth had never agreed with how young the Order recruited it’s members. But that was an old argument, one that he refused to give up out of sheer stubbornness, but had already lost. “He’s captured or he’s dead. I don’t know him well, but I wouldn’t insult him by saying he’s out picking daisies and hasn’t thought to check in.” Dearborn seemed decent enough, in Aberforth’s interactions with the man. He had also not seemed like the sort who would run off and not reply to the probable horde of owls out looking for him. “There should probably be a more substantially organized search. And someone needs to think about what some of the more volatile little phoenixes will do if he comes up dead. It’d be too easy to multiply the corpse count.”