Fic: My Sweet Arianna
Title: My Sweet Arianna
Summary: Aberforth defends his sister.
Characters: Aberforth, Arianna and Albus Dumbldore, Gellert Grindelwald
Rating: PG
Word count: 531
AN: For easilyabused. Also, apologies for the V.C. Andrews-inspired title; I couldn’t not use it once it occurred to me.
Once, without thinking, Aberforth Dumbledore punched Gellert Grindelwald.
Albus had immediately retaliated, cursing Aberforth immobile as a statue while Grindelwald stood there, faint hint of a smirk on his lips as he thanked Albus. His brother blushed like a wench.
Ariana hadn’t reacted, only sat there with the vacant smile on her lips that seemed to be her default expression whenever her brothers were around. Her hand still lay across the arm of her chair, awkwardly drooping where Grindelwald had dropped it in surprise when Aberforth had attacked.
Albus was apologizing and making sure that Grindelwald was fine, and didn’t spare their sister a second glance, didn’t worry about how she might have felt about a strange man coming in and touching her hand, lifting it up and pressing his lips to her skin as though he had any right to whatsoever.
He was still frozen still, still as Arianna and he wondered if this was how she felt, if she *wanted* to move and laugh and talk but simply couldn’t. His hand was still half-raised in a fist, and he ached to hit someone - his brother, Grindelwald, either or both would be perfect, the bastards - because he thought Arianna’s eyes looked sadder than normal. (He’d learned to read her blankness, learned to interpret that which can’t be communicated.)
Grindelwald announced that he felt as though his welcome had been worn out for the day. Immediately Albus offered to escort him home, giving Aberforth another glare that clearly meant that the second the door slammed behind them, Aberforth would remain frozen. Meanwhile, Albus would burst out with another apology for his backwards, uncouth brother and his vacant, broken sister and hope that Grindelwald liked him enough to ignore those things.
Albus could grovel all he wanted. Aberforth knew what was most important, and he kept his eyes - stinging from his new inability to blink - on Arianna, who finally lifted her hand from the awkward, limp position Grindelwald had left it in and turned her head to stare at Aberforth. He wanted to tell her that she would be okay, that the bastards were gone, but Albus’s damnably perfect cursework held strong.
Arianna stood, awkward as a kid, all spindly legs and wobbling knees, as though every time she moved she were learning how to walk all over again. Her inertia only lasted a moment; she had regained her bearings by the time she walked across the room to stand in front of Aberforth with direct eyes and smelling faintly of milk and flour and butter. Comforting, like a woman ought to smell.
She reached out and rested her hand on his cheek, quirking her lips into a reassuring half-smile.
Her fingers brushed against his ruddy cheek soft as a lover’s as she pulled her hand away. He wanted desperately to sweep her into his arms, tell her it would be okay, that he’d keep her from harm, that he would protect her more next time.
That she didn’t have to fear strangers when he was around, because he’d do anything to keep her safe.
He hoped she knew that.
Surely she knew, somewhere in her lovely, addled mind.
Summary: Aberforth defends his sister.
Characters: Aberforth, Arianna and Albus Dumbldore, Gellert Grindelwald
Rating: PG
Word count: 531
AN: For easilyabused. Also, apologies for the V.C. Andrews-inspired title; I couldn’t not use it once it occurred to me.
Once, without thinking, Aberforth Dumbledore punched Gellert Grindelwald.
Albus had immediately retaliated, cursing Aberforth immobile as a statue while Grindelwald stood there, faint hint of a smirk on his lips as he thanked Albus. His brother blushed like a wench.
Ariana hadn’t reacted, only sat there with the vacant smile on her lips that seemed to be her default expression whenever her brothers were around. Her hand still lay across the arm of her chair, awkwardly drooping where Grindelwald had dropped it in surprise when Aberforth had attacked.
Albus was apologizing and making sure that Grindelwald was fine, and didn’t spare their sister a second glance, didn’t worry about how she might have felt about a strange man coming in and touching her hand, lifting it up and pressing his lips to her skin as though he had any right to whatsoever.
He was still frozen still, still as Arianna and he wondered if this was how she felt, if she *wanted* to move and laugh and talk but simply couldn’t. His hand was still half-raised in a fist, and he ached to hit someone - his brother, Grindelwald, either or both would be perfect, the bastards - because he thought Arianna’s eyes looked sadder than normal. (He’d learned to read her blankness, learned to interpret that which can’t be communicated.)
Grindelwald announced that he felt as though his welcome had been worn out for the day. Immediately Albus offered to escort him home, giving Aberforth another glare that clearly meant that the second the door slammed behind them, Aberforth would remain frozen. Meanwhile, Albus would burst out with another apology for his backwards, uncouth brother and his vacant, broken sister and hope that Grindelwald liked him enough to ignore those things.
Albus could grovel all he wanted. Aberforth knew what was most important, and he kept his eyes - stinging from his new inability to blink - on Arianna, who finally lifted her hand from the awkward, limp position Grindelwald had left it in and turned her head to stare at Aberforth. He wanted to tell her that she would be okay, that the bastards were gone, but Albus’s damnably perfect cursework held strong.
Arianna stood, awkward as a kid, all spindly legs and wobbling knees, as though every time she moved she were learning how to walk all over again. Her inertia only lasted a moment; she had regained her bearings by the time she walked across the room to stand in front of Aberforth with direct eyes and smelling faintly of milk and flour and butter. Comforting, like a woman ought to smell.
She reached out and rested her hand on his cheek, quirking her lips into a reassuring half-smile.
Her fingers brushed against his ruddy cheek soft as a lover’s as she pulled her hand away. He wanted desperately to sweep her into his arms, tell her it would be okay, that he’d keep her from harm, that he would protect her more next time.
That she didn’t have to fear strangers when he was around, because he’d do anything to keep her safe.
He hoped she knew that.
Surely she knew, somewhere in her lovely, addled mind.