Albus stood inside the doorway to the room he shared with Aberforth. The beds had been stripped of all blankets, the clothes taken from the bureaus, the parchment and quill pens and inkstands cleared from the desk. The walls were bare. The floor was clean. Any sign that anyone had ever lived there had been completely destroyed.
He held a bag, charmed with undetectable extension, which was filled with every trinket, bauble, gadget, and trifle he’d collected since the day he was born, his clothes, and his favorite photographs and sketches. He’d lived in the room for ten years, and the thought of leaving it, and everything else he had in Mould-on-the-Wold, was unbelievably saddening.
He felt someone come up behind him and looked up to see Kendra, holding a bag similar to his. “Good,” she said, “You and Aberforth have everything you need, yes?”
Albus looked back to the vacant bedroom and nodded slowly.
“Wonderful.” She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed past him into the room. “Why don’t you go downstairs, and I’ll pack up the furniture?”
“Alright,” he said softly, turning to go.
“Albus?”
“Yes, Mother?” He looked over his shoulder to see her staring at him sadly.
“You do understand why we have to leave, right?”
“Of course I do,” he replied half-heartedly, “I was there, wasn’t I?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You can be there—be a witness—and still not understand, Albus.”
“I understand why we have to leave, Mum,” he said sharply, “That doesn’t mean I’ll ever be fine with it.” He rushed from the room before she could respond, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
The house was unrecognizable in its emptiness. The walls that had once been covered with framed paintings and the children’s sketches were devoid of all artwork, the tables lacked their vases of gorgeous bouquets. Even the mantle had been cleared of its little bowl of Floo Powder.
Aberforth stood by the fireplace, staring at it as if he wished he could watch its flames dance one more time. He looked oddly sophisticated for a seven year-old, with an emotional air that seemed too complicated for someone his age to even comprehend.
“Are you alright, Aberforth?” Albus asked, concerned.
“Honestly?” Aberforth returned, “If you wanted the truth, you wouldn’t have asked.”
“If something’s bothering you—”
“There are many things bothering me,” Aberforth interrupted, “And it doesn’t matter if you want to hear it or not; you’re my brother and you’re required to say that out of morality. You don’t really care. You have your own problems.”
Albus was slightly offended, but mostly surprised at the intelligence of his speech. “You really think I don’t care about you?”
Aberforth didn’t respond and simply continued to stare into the barren fireplace.
With a sigh, Albus moved on, through the living room into the dining room, where Ariana sat silently at the table with a small, untouched plate of bacon.
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Ariana: A Harry Potter FanFiction
FanfictionShe was only six when she was brutally attacked by those Muggle boys. She couldn't control herself; it wasn't her fault! Her father attacked them to avenge her, which only led to his inevitable capture and sentence to Azkaban Prison. Ariana Dumbledo...
