Title: Albus Dumbledore and the Deathly Hallows

Author: Biopotter

Rating: 12/13

Summary: Frogspawn, frappery, and farting. AD/GG.

Notes: It's canon! Titter!

Dearest Elphias,

I am well in health, and everything at home is fine. My responsibilities verge on the burdensome, and I shan't bore you with the details of the spats Aberforth and I entertain.

While wishing you every success and pleasure on your now-solitary travels, I do hope that you will not abstain from writing to me with details of your adventures. I noticed in your last letter that the formalities outnumbered the vitalities! Do not be concerned that reading about what I am missing will make me resentful or full of woe – I would like nothing more than to wile away the summer evenings indulging in the fantasy that I am anywhere but here.

Apologies for the shortness of the response, but dinner needs making, and Aberforth's gravy tastes like frog spawn. I promise a longer – and more cheerful – correspondence presently.

Your friend,

Albus Dumbledore

Albus scrawled his loopy signature and hastily tied the parchment to the leg of Theoprastus, his long-eared owl, who looked at him with orange eyes, eager for flight. Theo disliked being cooped up almost as much as Albus. The owl flapped out of the window with a hoot.

Tapping his way down the stairs, Albus entered their small stone kitchen. Aberforth was standing by the cauldron that hung over the fireplace, using his wand to stir the contents. Wordlessly, Albus summoned some vegetables, potatoes, and a small amount of beef from the pantry. He set the largest knife they had to start chopping them up, and then went over to check the current state of Aberforth's broth.

It was a thin and watery substance, not looking very appetising. Albus hoped that it would thicken up once the main ingredients were added, and hoped the temperature of the fire would be increased to evaporate the excess water. He wanted to suggest these ways for Aberforth to improve the stew, both knowing and not caring that it may start another argument.

'Aberforth? Perhaps a broth slightly warmer than room temperature would look less like a watery swamp.' He said, feigning a helpful tone.

Aberforth tensed. Albus knew he was being deliberately provocative, but why should he care? It was he, Albus, who was in charge of the house now, he upon whom the burdens were falling...

'If you would rather eat swamp,' muttered Aberforth coldly after a long pause, 'than endure my cooking, please feel free.'

'Oh, dear brother, if only I had the luxury. The nearest swamp is leagues away! I couldn't abandon my responsibilities for such frivolities.' With a wave of his wand, the chopped ingredients soared into the broth.

'No? But you can abandon them to scribble on parchment for hours?' Aberforth retorted accusingly.

'That's called writing, Aberforth, and it's what people do when they find themselves with no truly human companionship.'

A sudden, painful silence followed. Albus knew he'd hit a nerve with Aberforth, but guilt swilled in his guts at the unintentional jab at Ariana. This is always what happens when I let my tongue run away with me, thought Albus bitterly, if only things weren't like this...

They continued cooking and ate in silence, with Albus tenderly poking a spoon into Ariana's serene and open mouth between his own spoonfuls. She soon began biting on the end of the spoon, not allowing Albus to remove it, like a growling dog with a stick. Her behaviour when she got like this was unpredictable and unstable, but it always went from bad to worse.

'Ariana, no, let go – Ariana – stop biting, now, please...' Albus tugged harder, and managed to pull it free, refill it, and put it back in. Again, she bit down hard, anger on her face. Albus was not going to let her go hungry because of this, so he continued applying force to the tugging, getting frustrated, and she just bit down harder and harder.

Aberforth looked on with worry, and eventually spoke when it had escalated into almost wrestling. 'Albus, stop, let her be.'

'She needs to eat, Aberforth -' Albus grunted.

'You're making it worse.'

'Pass me my wand -'

'Don't you dare use magic on her!'

Albus turned his attention back to Ariana with a grunt, her hair was magically standing on end, and her face screwed up tight. With all his strength, he couldn't remove the spoon, and his frustration built and built.

'ARIANA, for goodness' sake, why can't you calm down?' He shouted, and with a whoosh of magical wind, the table was cleared of all plates. They all crashed to the floor noisily, along with the spoon which narrowly missed spearing Albus, and he cursed.

'Albus, just let her be. She doesn't want shouting at -'

His patience worn through, Albus stood and rounded on Aberforth. 'If you pride yourself on knowing what's best, then in your hands be it.'

And with that, he stormed out, careful to slam the heavy wooden front door.

Panting, he stomped down the lane towards the centre of the village. He did love his sister dearly, he'd not hesitate to fight off giants with his bare hands to keep her safe, but he had always dreamed he'd be far away, bettering the world for witches like her using his intelligence and daring and adventurous nature. Not at home tending to every outburst and bowel movement. He hated that Aberforth's patience and skill with Ariana outmatched his own. He couldn't handle it any more. His every nerve and cell screamed to get away, but the sinking feeling that called itself duty kept him where he was.

Before the markets closed for the night was the best time to get vegetables cheaply anyway, so Albus directed his slowing footsteps towards the marketplace. After Aberforth had finished his N.E.W.Ts, either he or Albus would be free to gain employment, but until then, they didn't have gold to throw away.

It was the height of summer, and the sky overhead was still light and tinged pink around the edges, and a cool breeze blowed away the day's leftover heat. This side of the town was where the witches and wizards lived, so he ended up passing their houses, including the lonely widow and aspiring historian, Mrs. Bagshot, living in the house next door, and the Doges, who's son Elphias was Albus' best friend. The large, wealthy Potter family lived on the mansion up the steep hill veering away from the village.

Mrs. Bagshot, a witch with a gentle, inquiring intelligence, was the only one who was always kind and helpful to the Dumbledores, even though his mother's pride hadn't let her get very close over the years. Albus did not think that Bagshot knew about Ariana, and did not feel the need to bring her up. Instead, when they passed in the evenings, which they often did, they gabbled pleasantly. She often baked bread to sell at the market, and on her way home she'd offer him some of the bread which hadn't sold. Albus sensed loneliness in her, and also sensed that she saw loneliness in him, too.

On his way back from the market, his basket filled with parsnips, cabbage, potatoes, and sprouts he spotted Mrs. Bagshot coming out of her cottage. Instead of greeting him jovially, looking him up and down and telling him he was getting taller by the second, she ordered him to stay exactly where he was, and hurried back inside.

He heard her shouting inside the house, and he stepped towards her gate, peering through the gathering dusk, calling tentatively. 'Mrs. Bagshot-?'

The next thing he saw, however, wasn't Mrs. Bagshot, but a dazzling headfull of blonde curls surrounding a scowling face, which were followed by a short, thin body as Mrs. Bagshot pushed the girl out into the yard.

'Er – hello,' said Albus, peering past the girl to shoot Mrs. Bagshot a questioning look.

'Albus, meet Gellert, he's my nephew.' Mrs. Bagshot beamed breathlessly, looking between the two, and Albus frowned. Now that they were standing still, he could see that it was, indeed, a boy. They nodded at each other, Albus still not really getting it.

'Can I now go, Auntie Bat?' Said the boy moodily, with a trace of the hardness that came from some Slavic accent. 'I have not yet finished my response to that article in Transfiguration Today.'

'Darling, you don't need to. This is who wrote it...' Mrs. Bagshot clapped Albus on the back as Gellert's eyes went from narrowed and annoyed to wide and surprised.

'Dumbledore? Really?' He said incredulously. Seemingly regaining his composure, he smoothed his robes and held out his hand, now beaming. 'Delightful! You must read my ideas!'

Albus shook hands out of politeness, still unable to find many words.

Mrs. Bagshot, looking slightly disappointed at Dumbledore's expression, proceeded to explain. 'I'm sorry this is all of a sudden, Albus... I was so excited about you two meeting, I rather forgot about the formalities.' She shrugged sheepishly.

Albus put on his most serene smile for her. 'Not to worry, Mrs. Bagshot. My manners have not been exemplary either, I admit. I expect I am out of practise; what with one thing and another.'

'And that is precisely why I wished for you and Gellert to meet, I rather think you need more company of your own age and... ability.' Mrs. Bagshot winked.

Ability? Thought Albus. He looked at Gellert, who drew himself up with pride and smiled charmingly, blue eyes glittering. The boy's change of mood was authentic and very flattering – it had been a while since Albus had met a fan, and few of them were younger than a century - but he still wasn't much in the mood. And he had yet to see what was so special about this boy, apart from the qualities that pleased the eye.

'How very nice of you, madam. It was splendid to meet you, Gellert.' Albus lifted his basket higher. 'Now, I must go tend to the rest of my errands before night falls.'

'Oh, of course you must,' said Mrs. Bagshot. 'Have a good night, Albus, and Gellert will be staying some months, if you wish to come round for tea.'

'I'd be delighted.' Albus returned, telling himself he'd think about if it his mood ever picked up.

He bade them a good night and continued home, to find all the plates fixed and gleaming on the shelf, and Aberforth snoring in the rigid wooden chair next to Ariana's bed, his hand still loosely enclosed within hers. Albus heaved a sigh, feeling uselessness wash over him like a thick, heavy liquid. He put the vegetables away and climbed to his own room, pushing the mountain of books and parchment off his bed carelessly, to lay down. That night he dreamed of blue eyes radiating happiness, just out of his reach.