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Him Again	By : Apocalypticat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Thank you, Quarter-Blooded! If just one person reads it, then it's worth posting!
Brian Potter dropped down onto the grass, his little legs exhausted at last. Both the exercise and the heat had flushed his soft face - but he continued to burble happily, staring around with his large blue eyes at the sunlit flowerbeds and the glowing patio. An earthworm emerged from behind a large stone and eased its way past him. Birds spread their melodic discord from a nearby tree.

Inside, Albus Dumbledore did not need to fake the burbling that came so naturally to his new body�s mouth. The garden, he noted, was an idyllic scene - the type of idyllic scene that, had he been an ordinary child, should have come back to him in adulthood and painted a childhood full of waving tree branches and sunlight. Brian�s early life thus far had been almost identical to his in that the world was incredibly large and beautiful, with adults being nothing but shins and deep voices.

One only enjoys this once, he thought, gazing around cheerfully. Well, he corrected himself, normally once.

The creak of a chair behind him reminded him of the presence of Harry - seated in one of the patio chairs with a glass of pumpkin juice in hand. One glance told him that everything was as normal: the green eyes were fixed on the persona of Brian.

Albus was rapidly beginning to separate himself and Brian into two separate people. It was an irrefutable, often painful truth and it was a concept that occupied a lot of his thoughts. Brian Potter was the longed-for son, the innocent child who now sat burbling on the lawn - blue-eyed, quiet, buoyantly cheerful, devoid of any of the normal tantrum tendencies - loved and cherished by both his parents, symbolic of everything the war had been fought for. In a perfect world, Brian would be sat on Albus�s knee as an object to be revered for its very nature: the first-born son of Harry Potter, the next generation of hopeful youth. The Hogwarts Headmaster would have adored Brian, Albus thought somewhat sadly. Brian would have been treated like a scaled-down, adorably vulnerable version of Harry.

Then there was the late Albus Dumbledore - the deceased, R.I.P and all the rest of it. The former Headmaster was a pile of ashes or rotten bones, reduced to a memory to everyone who had ever known him. Albus sighed. How was he remembered? From an unbiased point of view - as unbiased as it could be with himself as the centre of perspective - he�d been a strange old man who had been thrust into the leadership of the side of light. To Ginny, Ron, Hermione and the others, he had been a shadowy figure of authority and not much more. To the Order, he had been a leader and an enigma. To Harry - now there, with Brian�s name as his witness, he had been lucky enough to be something special. When one really got down to it, however, he had been the chief manipulator of Harry�s life, continually withholding information whilst at the same time idealising one of his own students. The word Albus assigned to this image was �frustrating.� To his staff - Merlin knew what he had been. To Minerva�

Albus felt his mind stall. Confused, he reached up to stroke a beard that was no longer there. Why was it so important to know how Minerva remembered him?

Of course, Minerva counted as a friend and was one of those few people who had come close to really knowing him. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, there was no reason for him to adopt - or wish to adopt - any great significance in her head. No, he mused miserably, he had just been her boss - her silly boss who couldn�t get the school records in order and was continually rushing off without any explanation at all.

Feeling irritated and upset - for no apparent reason - Albus forced Brian�s body upwards again and took a few, tottering steps towards Harry.

There was a sudden warmth in his chest cavity. Albus halted, shocked. A familiar feeling was spreading over him, a wonderful, incredible feeling� The birdsong around him became rapturous.

Harry felt his brow crinkle. Brian was standing stock-still in the middle of the lawn, with a very odd expression on his face. It was one of what Harry privately termed Brian�s �adult� expressions - so convincing that it took great effort not to believe that Brian really was feeling such complex emotions as guilt or amusement. The look on his son�s face now was one of joyous, disbelieving surprise.

�Brian!� Harry called, softly.

For the first time, Brian ignored him and continued to stand, head turned slightly upwards, the look of pleasurable comprehension increasing in intensity. Harry sighed and took a sip of his pumpkin juice. He looked up at the cloudless sky - and started.

A golden speck was drifting far above the garden. Harry squinted. It looked like a bird, a funny red and gold�.

Memories bombarded him. A scruffy second-year stood in the Headmaster�s office and gaped in horror at the pile of ashes that had been a bird - and later on saw pearly tears running down his arm. A grief-stricken fifteen-year-old fought against a golden statue as the same bird died for its master, and a sixth-year stared out of a window as the same bird flew away, its song shaping his misery into something beautiful.

It couldn�t be.

He was standing, though he couldn�t remember moving, and squinting into the sky, shading his glasses from the sun. The phoenix - for it was definitely a phoenix - was descending, diving its way towards the garden like an arrow. As it came closer, Harry could see the familiar fiery eyes and proud crest.

�Fawkes,� he breathed.

Dumbledore, whispered his mind. The two were inseparable. The last time he�d seen Fawkes was as the bird flew away after his master�s death. Bespectacled blue eyes twinkled at him.

You think the dead we have loved ever truly leave us?

The phoenix was in the garden now, mere feet away, and swooping down towards�

Harry saw Brian let out a laugh of pure joy and stretch out his short arms. Red and gold wings beat and the noble head extended - and the phoenix flew straight into Brian�s embrace as if it were home. There was a squawk and boy and phoenix clung together, as the birdsong reached a crescendo.

Harry dropped back into his chair. Perhaps it was just because of the shock of the moment, but Brian�s face altered, seeming to adopt the manner of one long gone. The large blue eyes twinkled and a small, knowing smile curved the infant lips. Then the impression was gone - but the phoenix was still there.

Emotion rendered Harry unable to speak. To see a neighbour walking a big black dog across the street was enough to choke him up, let alone the sight of his son clasping Dumbledore�s old phoenix to his chest. He got up slowly, afraid of frightening the bird away.

The phoenix�s head turned towards him and there was a trill of recognition. Brian smiled up at his father - and Harry got the impression that there had been some covert, silent agreement during the last few seconds - that Fawkes was his now and always would be. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and warm feathers brushed his skin.

�Fawkes� Brian, this is Fawkes�� Harry whispered, half to Brian and half to himself. �I can�t believe it� It�s like he�s back from the dead��

Brian buried his face in Fawkes�s feathers. The phoenix crooned, just as it had in Dumbledore�s office during Harry�s sixth year - and, strangely, he had a similar urge to stare at his knees.

#

The Hog�s Head was nearly empty; it was too early for the less respectable of its regulars to be present and too late for those who were simply being daring. The hag on the corner table was lingering over her drink and the cloaked man at the opposite end of the pub had his head in his hands and didn�t look to be leaving any time soon. He�d just started on his third bottle of Fire-Whisky and Merlin knew how many he intended to have.

Aberforth Dumbledore sniffed bad-temperedly and forced a cloth around a mug. This time of day was the worst, he�d found from years of experience. This was the point when one just had to stand there and play the waiting game. The end of the waiting game was always the arrival of one Sybil Trelawney - and then it became an endurance test. The ruddy woman always became so talkative - rambled until the urge to strangle her was almost unbearable.

This was also the point when introspection was most dangerous. Aberforth disliked introspection as a rule - it was unhealthy, for one thing, and impractical for another - but this hour was when it became impossible to avoid; when there was nothing else to occupy the mind or the hands.

Silly things came back to him. Everything was fine when he concentrated on his goats - ten generations and counting - but no, the silly, sentimental things kept on intruding. There was that woman he�d liked - what was her name, Pandora? Now she�d been the one to open up a box of misery and no mistake. Still, Pandora was better than Albus.

Images of Albus as an fresh-faced youth, phoenix on one shoulder and auburn locks tumbling down the other, obstinately ramming a stupid Muggle hat on his head whilst opening an envelope containing the most glowing O.W.L. results Hogwarts had ever seen. Images of Albus waltzing around in that embarrassingly vivid plum velvet suit, laughing at him as he scowled at it. Images of Albus arriving on the doorstep, windswept and pale but flushed with victory, babbling about his latest Auror exploits. Images of Albus spewing facts about Transfiguration, and rambling incomprehensibly about the �forces of darkness� before rushing off to do battle with Grindelwald. Albus smiling and shaking hands at the Headteacher�s Inauguration Ceremony, Albus sat at his office desk, the tips of his fingers together and the blue eyes bright and intelligent, Albus staring at him wearily from the other side of the bar, looking tired and depressed, Albus grimly going over an Order plan�

Merlin, how he�d hated him - for most of his life. He�d only really started liking him after he�d died. Now he was dogged by memories of the man.

What had he said, that evening eight years before? Of course, he was pretending to himself that he was forgetting, because the words were largely unforgettable as they were so unlike the normal Albus. It was deeply ironic that Albus had only ever once heeded his pleas for him not �speak like a bloody thesaurus.��

Aberforth, why do you hate me?

The eyes had been dull and the face lined. Yet what had he expected him to do or to say? He was the mighty Albus Dumbledore, and he was the grubby barman.

Figure it out for yourself.

What a stupid thing to say, he scolded himself, slamming the mug down with a bang that made the cloaked man start. And what an idiot. If he was so damned clever, he should have detected the evasion.

The next thing he�d heard, Albus had got himself blasted off a tower - by the man he himself had thrown out of the pub. It was a funny old world.

A sudden draft made Aberforth look up. The door had opened - and five figures were striding in. He blinked as he recognised them. The first to spot was Hagrid - a sight which made him scowl; he�d never had much patience for the big man. Then there was Rolanda Hooch, a woman who could hold her drink, Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout who were not well-known to him - and finally Filius Flitwick, another irritating presence. He raised one eyebrow in mild surprise: the Three Broomsticks was the usual pub for the Professors (who probably considered themselves too up-market for the Hog�s Head, he thought moodily).

As they drew nearer to the bar, Aberforth realised that all of them, great or small, had one thing in common: their eyes were fixed on him. The flying instructor looked furious, the Herbology Professor resolute and the groundskeeper alarmed - but there was no doubt about it; he was definitely their target.

Rolanda reached the bar first. He opened his mouth to demand what she wanted - but one clenched fist had already hit the surface.

�Right. What have you done to Minerva?�

Aberforth stared at her.

Filius flapped his hands apologetically. �Now, now - let�s not rush in-�

�What are you talking about?� Aberforth snapped.

�Don�t pretend not to know!� Rolanda�s nostrils flared. �We know you�ve given her some sort of trouble!�

�Rolanda, we�re not certain of anything,� Poppy said reasonably. �We can�t just start making accusations!�

Aberforth ignored her; surprised indignation was coursing through his veins. �I�ve done nothing of the sort! I don�t even talk to the blasted woman!�

�Then why has she wasted away?� The flying instructor was shouting now. �You�ve done something to her!�

�I don�t know and I don�t care! It�s not my bloody fault if the Headmistress is ill-�

�Hagrid saw you!�

�Saw me doing what?�

Rolanda gaped like a fish. Hagrid looked panicked.

�Mr Dumbledore sir, I�m not accusin� yeh of anything but I - I couldn�t �elp noticing - please pardon me - but the Headmistress, she-�

�I have absolutely nothing to do with the woman! Now either buy a drink or get out!�

�I DON�T WANT TO TOUCH ANY OF YOUR FILTH; I�M HERE TO FIND OUT WHAT YOU�VE DONE TO MINERVA!� Rolanda shrieked.

Aberforth�s fingers sped towards his wand.

�ROLANDA!� Poppy roared. Filius squeaked in shock. �Please, sir, Rolanda is jumping to conclusions out of worry. We�re all very worried about Minerva; her health has completely deteriorated, as has her state of mind. We came to you because Hagrid has given us reason to believe you might know something - the Headmistress reacted rather strongly to your appearance at the last Order reunion-�

�Are you deaf?! I don�t know anything! I have no idea why the Headmistress looks as me as if I�m a damned Inferius!�

The Headmistress�s white, agonised face swam into Aberforth�s memory. He knew Minerva only vaguely - as the irrepressible supporter of Albus and Transfiguration Professor, nothing more. In spite of this lack of connection, he�d been shocked and confused at her reaction towards him at the meeting - but then, the woman was clearly going through some sort of inner crisis�

�Please, Mr Dumbledore,� Poppy continued, hands fastened onto Rolanda�s shoulders. �We�re very concerned and any information at all-�

�And she was a friend of your brother�s,� Pomona added quietly.

Aberforth felt himself stiffen. He was too angry to move.

�I�ve never said more than three words to her in my entire life,� he hissed through gritted teeth - and a tide of resentment burst forth. �The only reason people ever react to me is because of Albus! If it�s anyone�s fault, it�s his; you�ve got the wrong man! I�m just the bloody barman! Happy now?�

Rolanda sagged, grey and miserable. Poppy hauled her up straight, sighing. Filius and Pomona were already moving towards the door, obviously aware that the audience was at an end. Hagrid, however, was staring at Aberforth with suddenly misty eyes.

�You can go too, you great oaf,� Aberforth snarled - the words coming out even more harshly than he�d intended.

Hagrid didn�t appear to notice. A reminiscing expression was on his face. �Yeh do look a good bit like yeh brother, Mr Dumbledore sir� yeah, definitely something �bout the eyes and nose��

Aberforth felt himself torn between hitting Hagrid in the face with the mug and enquiring further. The phrase �you look like your brother� was something painful and endlessly repeated until Aberforth Dumbledore ceased to exist as a separate person and simply became a pale echo of Albus - but the memories he�d found himself perusing earlier forced themselves up again.

Poppy let go of Rolanda - leaving the flying instructor swaying and tottering towards the doorway. The Healer�s mouth was a round O.

�Rolanda. Rolanda! Dumbledore. It�s Dumbledore!�

A rasping, rough voice spoke abruptly into Poppy�s ear. �What�s Dumbledore?�

Alastor Moody eyed the scene curiously. Aberforth was standing rigidly at the bar, apparently immobile with rage - the Dumbledore blue eyes flashing and the long, bony fingers curled into fists. Albus�s anger had been quietly passionate, impressive, limited in expression to the eyes; Aberforth�s was violent, contorting his entire face with venom. Moody kept his normal eye on the old man whilst rotating the magical one round to the Professors. Poppy seemed equally rooted to the spot, gazing at him but not seeing him, evidently distracted by some sudden understanding. The spiky-haired woman was staring irritably at her with a grey, resigned face and Hagrid was looking around, obviously bewildered. Both the curly-haired witch and the miniature wizard were glaring at the ex-Auror himself with evident suspicion. At first Moody suspected that they were simply disconcerted by his revolving eye - but then remembered that the last Mad-Eye Moody they�d seen had been a Death Eater in disguise.

�An explanation would be nice,� he growled. �I haven�t seen Abe riled up this badly for some time.�

�Alastor�� said Poppy distractedly.

Her eyes were turned towards Aberforth, busily surveying him up and down, and so she missed the Moody�s gash of a mouth twist into a crooked smile. The ex-Auror stumped forward, fondly remembering the past application of poultices by the same hands that were now clasped together as a result of mental agitation. Surprised at the sentimentality of his thoughts, Moody opened his mouth to speak - and Aberforth suddenly regained his faculties.

�Riled up! I should say!� The old man stroked his beard furiously, worsening the tangles. �They march in here and spout unfounded accusations without so much as a greeting! I stand accused of harassing a woman I barely know!�

�Harassing women, eh? I thought goats were more your thing,� Moody growled, confused. Poppy Pomfrey was not generally the type of woman to jump to conclusions.

�I�ve told them; I have absolutely no connection to Minerva McGonagall!�

Moody started - and Hagrid�s vast form increased in significance. The last Order reunion meeting flashed into his brain - Hagrid, red-faced, shifty-eyed, trying to suppress his booming voice as he spoke to the Headmistress, uneasy guilt written all over him. Hagrid was hardly the most subtle of people - and his whole manner had been the one of someone forced to carry out an unpleasant, awkward task. That combined with Minerva�s haggard appearance and her reaction to Aberforth�

He found himself chuckling. �Oh but you do have a connection, Abe! A brother of yours, for one thing!�

Without waiting for a reply he turned and faced the Professors. �I suppose this entire thing is out of your clumsy concern. Well, well, let�s see whether we can put it all together. How long has the Headmistress been in her present condition?�

Rolanda blinked at the ex-Auror�s abrupt, knowing attachment to the situation and frowned. �Ever since the war,� she replied sadly.

�Aye - and at what point during the war?�

�Well, really ever since she�s been Headmistress.�

Moody�s grizzled head bobbed in a nod. �Oh yes, and I expect she never goes near the Astronomy Tower.�

The flying instructor threw up her hands in frustration. First Aberforth had pretended ignorance and buried their one chance of a lead; now a mad old ex-Auror was accosting them with pure irrelevance! �What on earth does the Astronomy Tower have to do with anything?� she spluttered.

�No,� said Poppy in a breathless voice, gazing at Moody with wide eyes. �No, she hasn�t. She wouldn�t go near it during the last visit from the inspectors - Slughorn had to take them up there.�

�The Astronomy Tower?� Filius squeaked. �Are you suggesting that something very upsetting for her happened up there?�

�Does the Headmistress suffer from vertigo?� Moody rasped.

�Most certainly not!� snapped Rolanda. �She was a brilliant Chaser in her day and unless you think that one can fly a broomstick with a fear of heights-�

�I think nothing of the sort. This is a process of elimination. If she doesn�t suffer from vertigo then yes, I am suggesting something terrible happened up there.�

�Something did,� said Poppy quietly.

The flying instructor shot her a baffled look that went unnoticed. Hagrid was scratching his head and the other Professors were wearing identical looks of incomprehension. Moody gave a long-suffering sigh.

�Put it together, ladies and gents. The Headmistress won�t go near the Astronomy Tower, she can�t stand the sight of Aberforth, her condition dates from her becoming Headmistress�Blimey, I was told you had to be intelligent to be a Professor��

Poppy sank down onto the nearest chair. Rolanda stared at her in puzzlement. Filius gave a sudden high-pitched squeak that robbed Aberforth temporarily of all auditory ability and Hagrid�s hands went to his mouth. Pomona�s brow furrowed and she stared at Moody as though doubtful of his sanity.

�I sincerely doubt that the Headmistress entertains such ideas at her age,� she sniffed stubbornly.

�Oh,� said Poppy, softly, twisting her hands together and blinking rapidly. �She loved him, didn�t she?�

Rolanda let out a cry of astonishment but Poppy barely heard it. Something inside her felt raw and tender; she felt her eyes being opened, her memories being seen again with an updated hindsight. The old Minerva floated before her, sprightly and fiery - sitting next to Dumbledore at the High Table, smiling as he bent his head to whisper something to her - standing in Dumbledore�s office at the start of a short audience about health and safety, brushing her fingers over Fawkes�s warm feathers. Minerva McGonagall, a friend since childhood - to hide a secret so badly yet still be undiscovered by a woman who was meant to be a kindred soul! How blind she had been, sitting in the Hospital Wing forcing potions down student�s throats, complaining about Quidditch as a source of injury - all the while oblivious to Minerva as a force that failed after Dumbledore�s death! What else had she missed over the years?

�I was supposed to know her,� she whispered to herself. �She shouldn�t have had to confide in me; I should have just known.�

Rolanda was protesting wildly, gesticulating and expressing her disagreement with the most forceful of adjectives - yet there was the same look in her eyes; the look that echoed Poppy�s soul in saying: By Merlin, it�s true, we�ve failed her! Moody was arguing back, Hagrid was gently doubting, Filius excited, Aberforth disbelieving - but it didn�t matter. Rolanda would argue herself blue in the face and then rise the next morning the epitome of astonished acceptance.

Now the question to be faced was: what was to be done? What distraction could remove the burden of such a grief that had lasted seven, nearly eight years? Poppy�s hands twisted more violently. Was there anything that could bring Minerva back?
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Him Again