Entry tags:

! 1980, ! narrative, aberforth dumbledore

Who: Aberforth Dumbledore
When: 1 September 1980
What: Aberforth reports on various matters to his brother.

Abe stood looking down at the unmarked grave that held his brother’s body. He felt old and weary. While he was largely unscathed from the previous day’s battle but he still felt a good twenty years older than his age... and given his age, that was damn old. There had been so many deaths, so many young people who would never see the world made into a better place. It just didn’t feel right but Abe knew that dwelling on it would not make things better. People had survived after all. Pepper. Severus and that feisty little wife of his. Moody. They would go on and do what needed to be done. He might even be willing to leave his beloved pub if needed. For a while at least.

“It’s over, Albus,” he said, tears welling in his eyes and slowly sliding down his cheeks into his beard. His voice was roughened by emotion when he continued, “We won. As much as anyone can win a war that is. You’d be proud of Alastor and Rufus. They may not have done things the way you might have wanted, you sentimental old fool, but they got us there.”

He ran a hand down his face then stared at it, seemingly surprised by the wetness he found there. “You’d be proud of Severus too. It wasn’t easy for him but he held fast through all the difficult times and all the times I’m sure he must have wanted to toss it in and take the easy path. He came through for us with flying colours and...” He paused and crouched down. “There’s only me left of the Dumbledores, Albus, and I’m not going to continue the line on now. Too damn old. What woman would have me? I’m going to make Severus my heir. I think he’ll look after the Dumbledore legacy as well as anyone could. That strong-willed wife of his will make sure of it.” He chuckled. “You’d like her. I think she keeps Severus on his toes.”

He sighed and settled himself more comfortably on his haunches. “Himself is dead... Riddle. I guess I can say the name he gave himself now that he’s dead but I’m in no mood to find out if I’m wrong in my theory. Too damn sore and achy. Fighting’s a young man’s game, Albus. But anyway... he’s dead. Good riddance too. Severus killed him. I would have spared him that task but he did it and he didn’t do anything stupid or try and be a hero. Just took the easiest, quickest option. Something odd happened at the end though. There were just bones left from a Killing Curse. Odd, no? I’m going to look through your small library of notes and see if I can find out why. You’ve been keeping your eye on that one for years, that much I know, though you never deigned to explain why. Maybe I’ll find the answer for your wand as well while I’m at it.”

He rose to his feet again and put his hands on his hips. “I’m going to move you soon. I’ll talk to Rufus and Alastor. I’d like to put you with Father and Mother and Ari but they might want something a little more public. I know you won’t care and frankly neither do I but I’m willing to give them their public memorial. Maybe at Hogwarts, eh? You always loved that place.”

He fell silent for a long moment then sighed again. “And wherever you are, if Ari’s with you... tell her I love her and I miss her and one day soon I’ll be back with her and we’ll play whatever game she likes.”

He stared down at the grave for a moment longer then abruptly apparated away.