[Round 1: Siblings] 1945, for Emma
Title: 1945
Rating: PG-13 (there is some blood)
Relationship: Aberforth and Albus Dumbledore
Word Count: 600
Summary: It's all very epic: Albus Dumbledore shows up at Hog's Head at three in the morning, covered in blood, and politely waits for the door to open, taking care not to drip on the doormat.
Recipient: Emma
A/N I'm terribly sorry for being so late! Real life attacked me with all its might, and it was very rude about it.
It's all very epic: Albus Dumbledore shows up at Hog's Head at three in the morning, covered in blood, and politely waits for the door to open, taking care not to drip on the doormat.
“Are you going to tell me that most of this isn't your blood?” asks Aberforth, his voice even.
“No, I'm afraid I'm not.”
“Right.”
Aberforth has everything ready: a bed, some towels, and a batch of basic potions set out on a small table, together with a basin of water he's been meticulously changing to keep it fresh for the last few days. He still has no clue why he agreed to do this for Albus. If this was about anyone other than Grindelwald, he probably wouldn't have.
(“Don't you have any genius friends who could patch you up?” he asked just last week, irritated as ever.
“Perhaps I do.”
“Well then?”
“I should be able to locate Numengard in the matter of days. Will you be ready?”
He should've kicked his brother, then and there, for not even asking him to come with. Instead, Aberforth found himself nodding.)
As it turns out, most of the blood covering Albus comes from a nose broken in an act of poetic justice, or whatever the hell that's called. All it takes to set is a few simple flicks of a wand. It's almost disappointing that a battle between the two most powerful wizards of the century boiled down to no more than a broken nose, but then, Aberforth never expected any different. Growing up with his brother taught him that much.
“And the wand?” he asks as he finishes sealing all the tiny blood vessels. “Did he have it?”
“Oh yes, he did. He was rather sure it made him unbeatable.”
The silence that falls is not quite as uncomfortable as it should be. Albus doesn't even flinch as Aberforth reaches across the small table, and picks up the ornate wand. It's lighter than he expected.
“What are you going to do with it?” he asks, taking care to put some sting into his voice. “It's all you ever wanted.”
He expected no reply, and so he doesn't get any. His work as a nurse is done, anyway, and Aberforth picks up a single dirty towel and the basin his brother used to wash the blood off his hands and face. The whole situation suddenly feels ridiculous; as if they were kids patching each other up after a fist fight with other boys, except they never did anything like this back when they were children.
“You know, you didn't even ask me if I won,” says Albus quietly as Aberforth picks up the basin, and starts heading towards the front door to dispose of the water.
“Don't be ridiculous. If you hadn't, you'd show up here in more pieces.”
That earns him a warm smile he'd happily wipe off his brother's face if only he didn't already have one foot on the porch.
In the morning, when every possible newspaper cover screams of Grindelwald, and heroism, and great battles, it will be easier for Aberforth to remember all the details of the grudge he is holding. It's a good grudge - solid and gritty, and made of things that aren't his to forgive. For now, though, he simply empties his basin of bloody water, and sighs deeply before he returns to the house.
Rating: PG-13 (there is some blood)
Relationship: Aberforth and Albus Dumbledore
Word Count: 600
Summary: It's all very epic: Albus Dumbledore shows up at Hog's Head at three in the morning, covered in blood, and politely waits for the door to open, taking care not to drip on the doormat.
Recipient: Emma
A/N I'm terribly sorry for being so late! Real life attacked me with all its might, and it was very rude about it.
It's all very epic: Albus Dumbledore shows up at Hog's Head at three in the morning, covered in blood, and politely waits for the door to open, taking care not to drip on the doormat.
“Are you going to tell me that most of this isn't your blood?” asks Aberforth, his voice even.
“No, I'm afraid I'm not.”
“Right.”
Aberforth has everything ready: a bed, some towels, and a batch of basic potions set out on a small table, together with a basin of water he's been meticulously changing to keep it fresh for the last few days. He still has no clue why he agreed to do this for Albus. If this was about anyone other than Grindelwald, he probably wouldn't have.
(“Don't you have any genius friends who could patch you up?” he asked just last week, irritated as ever.
“Perhaps I do.”
“Well then?”
“I should be able to locate Numengard in the matter of days. Will you be ready?”
He should've kicked his brother, then and there, for not even asking him to come with. Instead, Aberforth found himself nodding.)
As it turns out, most of the blood covering Albus comes from a nose broken in an act of poetic justice, or whatever the hell that's called. All it takes to set is a few simple flicks of a wand. It's almost disappointing that a battle between the two most powerful wizards of the century boiled down to no more than a broken nose, but then, Aberforth never expected any different. Growing up with his brother taught him that much.
“And the wand?” he asks as he finishes sealing all the tiny blood vessels. “Did he have it?”
“Oh yes, he did. He was rather sure it made him unbeatable.”
The silence that falls is not quite as uncomfortable as it should be. Albus doesn't even flinch as Aberforth reaches across the small table, and picks up the ornate wand. It's lighter than he expected.
“What are you going to do with it?” he asks, taking care to put some sting into his voice. “It's all you ever wanted.”
He expected no reply, and so he doesn't get any. His work as a nurse is done, anyway, and Aberforth picks up a single dirty towel and the basin his brother used to wash the blood off his hands and face. The whole situation suddenly feels ridiculous; as if they were kids patching each other up after a fist fight with other boys, except they never did anything like this back when they were children.
“You know, you didn't even ask me if I won,” says Albus quietly as Aberforth picks up the basin, and starts heading towards the front door to dispose of the water.
“Don't be ridiculous. If you hadn't, you'd show up here in more pieces.”
That earns him a warm smile he'd happily wipe off his brother's face if only he didn't already have one foot on the porch.
In the morning, when every possible newspaper cover screams of Grindelwald, and heroism, and great battles, it will be easier for Aberforth to remember all the details of the grudge he is holding. It's a good grudge - solid and gritty, and made of things that aren't his to forgive. For now, though, he simply empties his basin of bloody water, and sighs deeply before he returns to the house.