InsaneJournal

Who: Aberforth Dumbledore
When: 3 August 1980
Where: The Brainwashing Box... er, Rehab Centre
What: Abe can finally think... and it's not a cheery business
Rating: PG
Status: Complete


Aberforth sat on cross-legged his bed in his small cell-like room with his eyes closed and his head tilted back against the wall. He was finally able to think properly for the first time since he’d gotten to this wretched place. He remembered how he had been acting and he was rather amused by his behaviour. From what he could tell, he’d just about driven Gaius Travers up the wall and that could never be considered a bad thing.

He suspected he hadn’t been given overdoses of the potions they were making him take. There hadn’t been any labels on the bottles from what he could see but he could tell what the effects of the potions were meant to be – to make the person taking them relaxed and tractable… and open to suggestion. He was fairly convinced that at least one, if not more, was also highly illegal.

But irrespective of that, he knew he occasionally had an abnormal reaction to some calmative potions. Basically the ordinary dosage had the effect of double or even triple the dose and he got very... loopy. Which was amusing for all and sundry, including himself. Though apparently not Gaius Travers. Man needed to find a sense of humour. There was, of course, no record of this at St Mungos because he never went there. He went to Poppy at Hogwarts or used one of his illicit Healer contacts. They knew of his abnormal reaction but very few others did.

He wasn’t sure what changes had been made – whether dosages had been lowered or removed altogether – but he knew what the end result was. He could think again. Yes, his train of thought tended to take unexpected detours into the irrelevant but he could at least think.

The old saying was more true than he’d ever thought – you didn’t know what you had until it was gone.

And he liked thinking. It had always been one of his favourite activities and he always encouraged it in other people. Thinking people made good decisions. Non-thinking people made bad decisions. Or not bad decisions. Silly decisions. And silly decisions could often be bad. Though sometimes they could be good. Other times they could just be silly.

Abe reined his thoughts in and resisted the urge to sigh. Detoured again. He was starting to get used to it but it was still frustrating given how hard he had to concentrate to even think at all. It was all too easy to just let the potions work.

The question he was attempting... badly... to think about was what he should do. Should he do his best to resist and hold out for rescue or should he pretend to go along and hope he was released? He’d always been somewhat ambivalent about the journals and whether they were of any use but now that he was effectively cut off from the wizarding world, he had to admit they were something of a comfort. He would give a very great deal to know that there was going to be some attempt by the Order to get both he and Tabitha out. The lack of knowledge was insidious, encouraging doubts and uncertainty, and he’d bet the contents of his basement that that was what Travers used to undermine his ‘patients’.

Because his first thought was to resist for all he was worth. But resistance was only worthwhile if he knew that he had a chance of getting out of here and he didn’t. And to make matters worse, there was always that sneaking, insidious thought that he was an old man, what use was he to the Order, they didn’t really need him, he wasn’t what you’d call close friends with many of them, why would they waste time and resources and risk losing more people, whom they cared about more, for one old man?

Which left the option of pretending to go along. Now that was a dangerous option no matter which way you looked at it. Because in order to go along, you’d have to relax and pretend to accept whatever Travers said… and with the potions running around his system there was always a chance that pretence could become reality.

Perhaps... perhaps for the moment he could walk the line between the two, presuming they kept the potions to what they were now. Resist for the moment then if there were no signs of rescue, try the pretence route. Both options were dangerous, both had their faults but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he could resist this horrifying brainwashing. He knew Occlumency. He was a stubborn old goat. He loathed the Death Eaters for many, many reasons, Albus being the main one. He could do this.

He hoped.