aberforth dumbledore (hogshead) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-02-10 11:41:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | aberforth dumbledore |
WHO: Aberforth Dumbledore & Minerva McGonagall.
WHAT: News, or a lack thereof, from Hogwarts.
WHEN: 10 February
WHERE: The Hog’s Head, Hogsmeade.
The Order hadn’t heard from Professor McGonagall in a while. Hogwarts, a powder keg in its own rights, occupied most of her time these days and that seemed to be enough of an excuse for not slipping away to see even Aberforth in Hogsmeade. For a while. Things were getting worse — the students were growing more and more restless and the professors were feeling more and more like their hands were tied. So, one rainy Hogsmeade Saturday, she slipped into the Hog’s Head and sat at the bar, eyeing Aberforth expectantly. People going dark wasn’t a new thing to Aberforth, but it was concerning when it was someone exceedingly punctual like McGonagall, and especially more when she was surrounded by at least three Death Eaters at Hogwarts including the notorious traitor Severus Snape. Although he didn’t show it he was relieved when he spotted her figure entering the door to the Hog’s Head, his vision following her across the room for a moment before he resettled back on two sixth year Slytherins that’d snuck in to talk excitedly, albeit in hushed tones, about Dark Arts. Grabbing a grimy glass from the shelf behind him, Aberforth made his way to where McGonagall had walked up. “What’ll be?” he grunted. “Firewhisky,” she said, keeping her fingertips at the very edge of the bar. She’d always thought Aberforth could do a better job of cleaning, well, everything so she was going to touch as little as possible while she was there. After a considering glance cast in the castle’s direction, she added, “Make it a double.” Reaching under the counter for a bottle of his premium stock, Aberforth uncorked it, and then poured the steaming liquid into the glass he’d fetched earlier. Finished, he pushed it towards the professor. “That stressful up there, is it?” Minerva sipped from her glass first, smoke billowing from between her parted lips after she swallowed. “I’m so busy,” she said lightly, “I couldn’t say.” “That so?” Aberforth quipped, attention shifting back to the two Slytherins for a brief moment. “Higgs and McHale over there seem to be talking a lot about it.” “Yes, well,” she said, not bothering to seek out the Slytherins, taking another smoky sip of her drink instead. “Higgs and McHale have found their place this year. I’m a simple Transfiguration professor.” She raised her glass to Aberforth and then took a much longer sip until her glass was empty and she was watching the barman through the resulting haze of smoke. Aberforth had been through his fair share of things — more than his share in fact — so he didn’t think he was missing a beat here as his bright blue eyes took in much Minerva’s entire mood and look. Instead of speaking, he merely topped up her glass with from the bottle. “I’m bloody well sure they have,” he said for a moment, letting that hang there with the smoke. “What can you talk about, then?” Clearing the firewhisky burn from her throat, Minerva glanced over at the window and then back at Aberforth. “It seems to be raining,” she said. “Very astute,” Aberforth snorted, foregoing a deeper rebuttal about the state of things. “The rain keeping you from drinking all these months?” “You could say that,” Minerva said, swirling the steaming firewhisky around her glass, never quite sloshing it over the rim, but getting very close. “You’re a regular font of information, Minnie,” the old man stated, before grabbing a dirty rag to ‘clean’ the bar. And then, with a lower voice: “Guess I’ll let ‘em know a cat’s got your tongue.” “Minerva,” she corrected sharply, but she inclined her head to say, Yes, do. There was more she wanted to tell him, but she pursed her lips and scooped her glass up for another drink. “That rag is filthy, Aberforth.” Another snort at the rebukes, and Aberforth waved her concerns about the rag off. “Bloody Snape,” he offered even if she doubted that a word could be uttered about him. “Gonna look into doing more, too.” Minerva snorted herself now, the slightest plumes of smoke wafting out of her nostrils over her glass. But she didn’t say anything about Snape. “Are you?” “Why wouldn’t I?” Aberforth questioned, attention going back to the professor on the opposite side of his bar. “Gotta few tricks up my sleeve and all.” Ariana’s frame was empty at present. Rather than continue to refill Minerva’s glass, the barkeep set the bottle down on the counter to let her have control over it. “You get weather news from the rest of the place at all up there in your castle?” With a sigh, Minerva considered the bottle for a moment. “Yes, of course.” Leaving the bottle where it sat, she met Aberforth’s eye and reached for her coin purse. “I should go back to the castle. I can’t imagine the students enjoy their weekend much with one of their professors hanging about.” She slid several coins onto the counter. “I wanted to see you, though.” Aberforth palmed the coins and slide them underneath the counter. When his hand reappeared he had a collection of The Beacon leaflets that Young Kid— Bell — had sent him. “Guess that’s true. Good thing you did. I was startin’ to worry since you hadn’t come ‘round to say how dirty the place was.” “It is filthy in here,” Minerva said, her eyes falling on the copies of The Beacon. She shook her head imperceptibly and picked up the bottle of firewhisky now to pretend to inspect it instead of the clandestine newspaper. “I’ve seen that before.” Somehow The Beacon had already found its way inside the school. With a flick of his wrist, Aberforth whisked the copies back under the counter. “It’s my ambiance,” he answered gruffly. “Good. Least you aren’t entirely cut off.” “Just enough, though.” Minerva set the bottle down, giving it a tiny frown. “Anyway, I’ll try to come see you again.” Nodding at that, Aberforth sighed. “Try,” he affirmed. “Let me work out it otherwise.” He grabbed the rag again to ‘clean’ the counter. “We’ll figure somethin’ out.” The corners of Minerva’s mouth twitched and she nodded, too, reaching out to press her hand to the back of Aberforth’s, filthy rag and all. “It was good to see you,” she said when she stepped away from the counter. “Give ‘em hell,” Aberforth answered, voice low. He gave her a nod before the woman turned to leave, and his attention returned to the other patrons in the bar. |