FIC: Aberforth's Revenge [Harry Potter, Aberforth & Albus & Voldemort & Goats]
Title: Aberforth’s Revenge
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers: Up ’till Half-Blood Prince, especially if you combine it with the warnings.
Warnings: Old men with long grey beards and smelling of goat taking revenge! *ominous roll of thunder* The Macarena! Uhm... Better not read this if you have recently read the last few chapters of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and was heavily affected by it. It tasted rather bad when I did. But most importantly: THIS IS UTTERLY STUPID!
Pairings: None.
Disclaimer: Let’s see, what in this fic does not belong to me... Anything created by J.K. Rowling, for one. *ominous roll of thunder* The Macarena is not mine, and I wouldn’t want it any other way, thankyouverymuch! Sisi isn’t either... The Teletubbies are certainly not mine, get them away from me, I’m sorry for mentioning them! Ahem. Anything I would make through this fic would be mine, but sadly that is not happening, and never will.
Summary: Aberforth Dumbledore is sick and tired of looking up at his brother Albus’s huge magic castle through the dirty windows of the Hog’s Head, and decides it is time for a change around Hogsmeade. Bring out the goats!
Author’s Note: Despite the little spoilers for book six, this fic could be situated anywhere in the first six years of Harry’s education. Beware of your sanity when reading this. It might want to run away. Mine did. If you know it’s usual hidey-hole, just let it, would you? It would be merciful. Oh, and please don’t try to sue me when it happens and you don’t know how to get it back. I have warned you. I actually wrote this while wide awake, and I still managed to post it! Wow. Well, time for you to see what horrors I am capable of producing while fully (ahem) conscious. Enjoy and shiver!
Aberforth’s Revenge
Say, have you heard of the goat man? He lives in Hogsmeade. His name is Aberforth Dumbledore, and he runs an extremely shabby pub, the Hog’s Head.
Dumbledore, you say? Surely I’ve heard of Dumbledore, the great and powerful and noble and wonderful and highly eccentric and merciful and wise and lots-more-positive-descriptive-pronouns-worthy, esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, founder and Secret Keeper of the Order of the Phoenix, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, who is also famous for defeating the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945 and discovering the 12 uses of dragon blood etcetera, etcetera. The bloke’s famous! But wasn’t his first name -
No, no, not that Dumbledore! That’s Albus. I said Aberforth. His brother.
Ooh...
That Dumbledore... Heh. Sure I’ve heard of him... I guess...
Yeah, that’s what everyone always says. When one says "Dumbledore" the recipient says "Headmaster Albus". Never Aberforth. Never the slightly dyslectic, goat-hexing other Dumbledore. Never...
Well, one day, Aberforth had enough, and he decided that things needed to change. He threw down the dirty cloth which he used to spread the dirt over the glasses, shooed the sparse customers out of his pub, locked the door, and began to prepare his plans.
The villagers threw worried glances out of their windows that night. But when one sturdy fellow went out to the Shrieking Shack, wand and a big cudgel in hand, he came back to tell that all was quiet, as if the ghosts and ghouls had driven each other away. The Hogsmeaders where at a loss for what the source of the awful howling and screeching that resounded through the town could be.
Aberforth worked all through the night. That morning, he fell asleep atop his toast, while making coffee. His few loyal customers where greatly disappointed that the Hog’s Head didn’t open. He woke around dinnertime, ate his toast and drank his coffee (all of it! O.O) anyway, ate some goat cheese and goat meat, left the dishes to mould and set off for Hogwarts, home-bread goat army in tow.
Just for the heck of it, he knocked.
Professor McGonagall answered the door, took one look at what he had brought with him, and screamed. Aberforth raised on long, bony, calloused, skeletal, pale, scabby, scarred, grubby and plainly sinister finger, and McGonagall was silenced by one of his many minions.
He turned to face the rest of his many minions and raised his arms. "Spread out, my many minions! Go forth and daze the students and faculty!! And, my many minions, dance *ominous roll of thunder* The Macarena!!! I command you, my many minions!!!!" he croaked, all the wile performing *ominous roll of thunder* The Macarena.
His many minions spread out over the school and grounds to do their master’s bidding. Soon, the screams of terrified little students could be heard, as well as those of horrified big teachers. The difference was hard to tell. If one where to follow the shrieks to their source, one would encounter the awful sight of witches and wizards slowly succumbing to the almighty catchiness of *ominous roll of thunder* The Macarena, performed by many mutated goat minions with magenta, tomato and lime striped, corkscrew curled furs, huge rubber, squeaking, azure hoofs and multicoloured, flashing Teletubbie horns.
The many minions soon had Hogwarts in their split-hoofed grasp.
Of course, there was some resistance.
A scrawny chap by the name of Harry Potter, if Aberforth remembered correctly, as he watched over the battlefield, gathered a host of those silly, rush-into-action-without-a-first-thought-just-to-be-brave-and-save-the-world-Gryffindors and even a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who had apparently been infected (that’s what you get from kissing, kids, not cooties, but Gryffindor stupidity!) around him, and put on quite a show. They threw all kinds of silly hexes at Aberforth’s many minions, and cast silly protective spells, and generally made a big, loud, blinding, messy, silly fuss.
Aberforth thought it was quite silly.
When he was supposed to finally give in to the supreme catchiness of *ominous roll of thunder* The Macarena, the Potter lad did the most silly thing; he gave a long and boring speech to some tall, redheaded boy and a bushy haired girl, about how he wished he could have spent more time with them, been a better friend, gotten old enough to legally purchase liquor, snogged more girls and eaten more peanut butter-scones, and then started hissing. A cute wittwe baby snake with cute wittwe inches long poisonous teeth and cute wittwe big yellow eyes that turned some unfortunate Gryffindors and some of the many minions into mud, squeezed itself through a crack in the wall and bit him in the buttock.
The Potter lad promptly dropped dead.
Hm.
Aw, well.
The silly Gryffindors took this as their cue to go totally off their rockers, and began tearing apart the many minions with their bare hands, feet and teeth. Until they became so entranced by *ominous roll of thunder* The Macarena that they promptly forgot all about it.
Silly Gryffindors.
After that, the many minions could ‘take it easy’. Without the Sisi, though. Aberforth didn’t like Sisi all that much.
The Slytherins tried in vain to call for their mommies and daddies, but the words where lost amidst the bloodcurdling screams.
Hagrid tried to befriend and coddle the many minions, who were, after all, animals of sorts, but Aberforth wouldn’t have it. Hagrid was sentenced to the cruelest punishment imaginable: watching Teletubbies.
A whole procession of Mary-Sues and Gary Stus to the rescue met their just doom and demise at the split-hoofed feet of the many minions. Ha!
All in all, it was easy.
Aberforth Apparated into his brother’s office, after having every single copy of Hogwarts, A History eaten by his many minions, and stood before the Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, tall, thin, shabby, and reeking of goat.
Albus was peacefully sucking his Sherbet Lemons and promptly died of a heart attack when his brother appeared out of nowhere in front of his big, crooked nose.
Aberforth looked down at the corpse with raised eyebrows, shrugged, and quickly kicked his late brother under a rug. He tested the big winged chair of the Headmaster warily, and found it quite comfortable. Then, as tradition demands, he cackled.
Evilly. Maniacally.
Muahahaha!
Mu-hahahahahaha!!
MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Aberforth coughed and plopped a few Sherbets into his mouth, wondering just why Albus had always kept a stash of the things again. Little did he know that his cackling had drawn Voldemort’s attention. That didn’t matter much, though, because he learned as soon as Voldy took notice of the destruction of Hogwarts, A History and Apparated into the Headmaster’s office.
The Dark Lord demanded an explanation. He had lost both of his arch-nemesises on one day, and that had royally miffed him. Aberforth thought he was acting silly.
He stood up to face Voldy, buttock to buttock, and their duel began. They bombarded each other with farts. Luckily for Fawkes, who had witnessed the days events from his perch, but had unable to do anything because Albus had tied him to it after he almost incinerated the Sorting Hat, the match didn’t go on for very long.
Both tall, thin men ran out of gas.
They stood facing each other contemplatively, and Aberforth scratched his beard in concentration. A light bulb appeared above his beard, and he screamed: "Mini minion!"
The door opened, creaking creepily, and through it came the cutest wittwe goat-baby ever. It had a ribbon with a big bow around its fluffy neck and big, sparkly eyes. Voldy was instantly drawn to the cute wittwe animal. He patted the wittwe stubs of its horns and promptly burst into flames. Voldy was burned to a heap of ashes which melted into a puddle of icky goo which vaporized.
Aberforth opened a window to get rid of the Voldy-smell. It almost superseded the scent of his goats!
Below him, at the grounds, a group of Death Eaters and members of the Order of the Phoenix alike, where dancing *ominous roll of thunder* The Macarena.
Aberforth cackled some more.
He saw Fudge and Scrimgour and the Aurors enter the grounds, and promptly die of the stench of Aberforth’s goat minions, one by one.
And Aberforth cackled.
And thus it came to be that Wizarding Great-Britain was conquered and erroneously united by Aberforth Dumbledore, and his many goat minions.
The End.
(Or is it?)
PSAN: I reread this before posting and holy crap, what was I thinking?! XD