CHAPTER FIFTY:
( aberforth dumbledore )

▂✫⌒*･ﾟ

SPENCER LETS THE WATER wash over her the moment she jumps off the dragon along with her friends. She stays in the ground for a couple of seconds, coldness creeping up on her with the dark winds and freezing water. It soaks her up and in that moment, she wishes to close her eyes; to let the water drown her for a few seconds to escape reality— and then her mind tingles and it forces her to stand up from her place.

             She staggers in her place, completely soaked up from the lake before diving out of the water, her clothes dripping water onto the ground. Harry is already up, placing the usual protective spells around the area. She lets her eyes wander around to make sure everyone is alright; Ron is shivering with coldness, Hermione has begun standing up with loud coughs and shudderings, Ricky is rubbing his eyes with his hands to get rid of any sand or substance, his hair completely down and wet. That does not matter to her, however. All that matters is that every one of them are unharmed.

Her clothes are being dragged down, and so she takes out Mordra's wand and points it at herself. The water vanishes from her clothes and dries up along with her whole body. Spencer does the same to Harry who focuses on making sure they are not tracked nor visible to anyone else. He gives her a short nod of gratitude before joining everyone else. She repeats the same routine to the rest of her friends. Spencer surrounds herself with them and takes a look at their burns and injuries. Fortunately, Hermione still has some dittany and Spencer winces slightly when she places one onto her own. A little after drinking some pumpkin juice that Hermione brought from Shell Cottage, she takes out some clean clothes for all of them. Although, Spencer did dry the rest, she also did not want to wear it any longer with some of it being ripped or burnt off.

"Well, on the upside," Ron is the first to speak up after them being silent the whole time, "we got the Horcrux. On the downside —"

"We were tricked and don't have the sword," Ricky sighs in exasperation. "I take back what I told him. I hate goblins."

Harry pulls the Horcrux from the pocket of the jacket he had just taken off and sets it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it draws their eyes as they swig their bottles of juice. Spencer cannot help but admire the cup and yet feel afraid of it as well. It is horrible how such an artifact is being used for its own gain— Tom Riddle can be seen as an exceptionally smart individual for even daring to do it, but somehow she does not see it that way. It is stupid to her that his knowledge has gone to waste and now he looks like some sort of wretched version of the creature in the book of Frankenstein written by Mary Shelley.

"At least we can't wear it this time, that'd look a bit weird hanging around our necks," Ron brings up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

             Spencer gazes at the dragon that continues to drink onto the water like if it has never tasted it before— a frown grows on her face when she realizes it most likely has not. She shakes her head and then taps Hermione's shoulder, pointing at her beaded bag. Hermione hands it over and immediately, Spencer starts searching for a normal cloak. Once she spots it, she takes it out and wraps the navy blue cloak over her back. When she glances up, her eyes meet Ricky and for a second, all he does is stare blankly before he blinks numerous times as if he is trying to take a better look at her.

Spencer figures out why quickly. In that moment, Ricky must have seen Mordra's figure as her because the two are related and, unfortunately, cloaks are something Mordra Montague loves to wear. She takes off the hood while keeping the rest of it on her. Her attention returns back to her redheaded friend who mentions, "It's us we need to worry about."

"What do you mean?" Hermione raises an eyebrow at him. Spencer lets a short smile appear in her face while she glances around at the area.

Ron mimics her expression. "Well, I don't know how to break this to you," he starts off slowly, "but I think they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts."

Despite the situation they are all in, the five of them start to laugh. Once the laughter started they found it difficult to stop and it begins to make Spencer's ribs ache. She wraps her arm around her stomach and tilts her head back, a grin present on her face. It was not the funniest of jokes, but they are alive— and maybe it is a little bit hilarious.

"What are we going to do, though?" Hermione finally questions, hiccuping herself back to seriousness. "He'll know, won't he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!"

Spencer stares at the water, her eyes now cold of emotion as the final answer to what she assumes had been about Dumbledore's watch comes to her mind. The one that she was never sure of and yet now it feels like she knows— or that she has to either way. "I think..." she starts off quietly, making Ron, Ricky, and Hermione turn toward her, "that the watch Dumbledore gave me was enchanted to tell us when it was time."

Ron makes a face as if he is about to say 'well it is a watch' but she does not allow him to start. Spencer lifts up her finger to quiet him and he does as told. She points up to a star. The three of them follow her gaze and look at the star in confusion— that is until Hermione tells them, "You're pointing at Ara... or at least that's the star name I think you're hinting at. It's hard to tell right now."

Spencer nods in agreement and licks her lips nervously. "All this time I have just been trying to figure out what the watch was trying to tell me, but Dumbledore left in his will that he hopes I will always know how to tell 'time' and to 'let the stars guide' me. Stars do move but it is hard to distinguish its difference until many days. This one... this one is hard to locate and find even where the stars are clearest to see. You know the story behind Ara?"

Ricky shakes his head mumbling something about Astronomy having been one of his least favorite subjects (Divination being first). Spencer rolls her eyes at his comment before continuing, "It is based off Greek mythology. The story is that Ara is supposedly associated with the altar where the gods formed an alliance before going to war with the Titans. The gods were led by Zeus and the Titans by Atlas."

Hermione's face pales. "You think that it's telling us...?" She does not want to finish her sentence, but it is okay because Spencer already knows what she is trying to say. Slowly, she nods.

Ron furrows his eyebrows. "Telling us what exactly?"

Spencer is not the one to reply for Ricky stares right at Harry's quiet expression and answers, "For us to actually fight in the war head on." Ron's skin turns into a pale green color. Instead of trying to be hopeful, Spencer's attention stay on Harry. He has been unresponsive and did not straighten up after laying down.

"Harry...?" She questions in concern. His eyes are closed shut and she sighs knowing he must have let Voldemort in again. Spencer glances at the others and they share the same worried look— what is Voldemort showing him now (whether he let him in or not)?

After what seems like hours, Harry's eyes flies open as he wrenches himself back to the present. His body is still lying on the bank of the lake with the five of them glaring down at him. Spencer frowns slightly and waits for him to admit what he has just seen. She holds out her hand and he grasps it, struggling himself up with full blown shivering.

And then he announces what they were all thinking, "He knows." His voice sounds strange and croaky as he gasps, "He knows, and he's going to check where the others are, and the last one," Harry gets on his feet, "is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I knew it."

Spencer feels her heart freeze in panic. "At Hogwarts?" She looks up at him in alarm. Hogwarts is where Blaise is, Blaise, Blaise, Blaise—

"What?" Ron is gaping at him; Hermione sits up, looking worried. Ricky swallows deeply, running his hand through his damp hair. "But what did you see? How do you know?"

"I saw him find out about the cup, I — I was in his head, he's—" Harry pauses, "he's seriously angry, and scared too, he can't understand how we knew, and now he's going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape's there, because it'll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he'll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours —"

Within hours, Spencer repeats along with the word, Hogwarts. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!

"Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?" Ron asks, now scrambling to his feet too. Spencer breathes heavily for a couple of seconds before knowing it is best to calm down and make her brain think straight. She has to focus, she cannot lose focus— not right now when it is possibly the last few minutes, moments? She does not know but she made a promise to herself that she has to fight for those she loves and cares about and this is it!

"No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn't think about exactly where it is —"

"Wait, wait!" Hermione cries as Ron catches up the Horcrux and Harry pulls out the Invisibility Cloak again. "We can't just go, we haven't got a plan, we need to —"

For all the time that Spencer has done plans, they do not work when they are in a middle of a war where anything can happen. The first time she has realized that sometimes good things can come out of situations where nothing is planned is when she ran away from her manor. She left without a second to waste and in turn she found a family within the Weasleys and Daniel. It was the best decision she has ever made in life and it was not planned so despite how much she is a big fan of them—

"We need to get going," Harry orders firmly. Spencer nervously plays with the strands of her hair. It has grown, obviously, but it is no longer the same length that she had it a year ago. She was hoping they can at least rest and sleep for some time before getting all of this hunting started again. Sleeping at Shell Cottage has provided her to increase the amount of hours she sleeps (since the wedding at least considering their small and joyful adventure where she only slept for an hour most of the time). "Can you imagine what he's going to do once he realizes the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn't safe enough?"

"It's now or never, isn't it?" Spencer gulps, crossing her arms and bringing them close to her chest. The others share a look and they all knew what they were thinking: together until the very end (and hopefully they do not reach to that part).

Ricky is the first to speak up after their dramatic silence, "We'll Apparate at Hogsmeade." Harry snaps out in whatever thought he is currently thinking and nods in agreement to his words. He has a look of exhaustion and yet determination altogether (and in Spencer's opinion that makes him even dangerous).

"Yes," Harry agrees, "and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school's like. Get under the Cloak, all five of us, I want to stick together this time."

Spencer makes a face and tries to argue, "We don't fit—"

"It'll be dark, no one's going to notice or pay attention to our legs," Harry comforts without actually knowing if they will or will not. However, his optimism is a bit helpful and firm so they do not disagree with his words. They watch silently as the dragon finally stops drinking and it has risen up into the air. It climbs higher and higher before it vanishes over a nearby mountain. For some reason, it has felt like a provided guide that maybe even if they feel like they are trap... one day they can be free.

Ricky and Spencer glance at each other before the older Ravenclaw brings her close to him and the two get even closer to the other three— Ron and Harry on the ends while Hermione, Ricky, and Spencer face each other; arms crossed with each other's while the two boys on the outer side grab their arm's. Harry makes sure the Invisibility Cloak is down as far as it can go and together they turn on the spot into the crushing darkness.

Spencer's feet touches the ground and her eyes widen at the familiar street upon them where she once walked with Ricky, Theodore, and even Blaise that one time. The shops, however, do not look the same. They are dark in every way possible and not just because of the little lighting. She does not get to notice anymore details because then the air is rent by a scream that sounds like a dying animal with a pebble stuck on its throat. Shit, she curses in her head knowing they were the ones to have caused this alarm to go off.

The doors of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dash into the street with their wands raised. When she spots Harry's wand raising, Spencer grabs his hand and shakes her head. With the other one, she places her finger onto her lips knowing they have to be quiet because even the Summoning Charm would not work on this Invisibility Cloak— not when it is one of the Deathly Hallows.

"Accio Cloak!" roars one of the Death Eaters. Spencer rolls her eyes and raises her own hood up from the cloak that she wears on herself. The Invisibility Cloak does not even budge at all. "Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?" yells the Death Eater who had tried the charm, and then to his fellows, "Spread out. He's here."

Six of the Death Eaters runs toward them: Harry, Ron, Ricky, Spencer, and Hermione back as quickly as possible down the nearest side street, and the Death Eaters misses them by inches. They wait in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street from the Death Eaters' searching wands.

"Let's just leave!" Hermione whispers. "Disapparate now!"

"We can't," Spencer murmurs back. Harry lets out a shaky sigh and nods toward her. "She's right. They were ready for us... I reckon they've done something to keep us trap—"

"What about dementors?" Another Death Eater calls. "Let 'em have free rein, they'd find him quick enough!"

"The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hand but his —"

"— an' dementors won't kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter's life, not his soul. He'll be easier to kill if he's been Kissed first!" There are noises of agreement. Spencer scoffs silently knowing how empty-headed those Death Eaters are; do they not realize Voldemort would rather spite him first and then murder him on the spot? It is what has caused him to lose the other times. Seriously, how does he not realize that in order to actually kill Harry he needs to stop being overly confident and instead of mocking him, just kill him?

Spencer stiffens once she feels the unnatural cold sensation begin to steal over the street. Light is sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanishes. In the pitch-blackness, she feels Hermione take hold of her hand and altogether, they turn on the spot. The air through which they needed to move seem to have become solid: They cannot Disapparate; the Death Eaters had cast their charms well for being incredibly stupid themselves. Spencer gulps nervously knowing the cold is biting deeper and deeper into their flesh. They retreat down the side street, groping their way along the wall, trying not to make a sound. Then, around the corner, gliding noiselessly, comes dementors, ten or more of them, visible because they are of a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed and rotting hands.

Harry raises his wand and although Spencer wants to stop him, she knows that his Patronus is the most powerful that can get them out of the suffering of the Dementor's Kiss. No one else stops him from whispering, "Expecto Patronum!"

The silver stag bursts from his wand and charges: The dementors scatters and there is a triumphant yell from somewhere out of sight. "It's him, down there, down there, I saw his Patronus, it was a stag!"

The dementors retreat, the stars are popping out again, and the footsteps of the Death Eaters are becoming louder; but before anyone can decide what to do, a door opens on the left-hand side of the narrow street, and a rough voice orders, "Potter, in here, quick!"

Spencer is pulled by Harry without hesitation (and she does not understand because it could have been a Death Eater). The five of them hurtle through the open doorway. Ricky grasps onto Spencer's hand as if assuring himself that this is happening. "Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet!" mutters a tall figure, passing them on his way into the street and slamming the door behind him.

Spencer squints her eyes before noticing a stuttering light of a single candle and then the familiar grubby, sawdust-strewn bad of the Hog's Head Inn. Having no sense of precaution for their lives inside the bar, they run behind the counter and through a second doorway which leads to a wooden staircase that they all climb as fast as they could. The stairs opens onto a sitting room with a threadbare carpet and a small fireplace, above which hangs a single large oil painting of a blonde girl who gazes out at the room with a kind of vacant sweetness. She tilts her head in familiarness before snapping her head to head the shouts heard from the street below.

Still wearing the Invisibility Cloak, they creep toward the grimy window and look down. Their savior, whom Spencer now recognizes as the Hog's Head's barman, is the only person not wearing a hood.

"So what?" One of the Death Eaters questions with a sneer.

"So what? You send dementors down my street, I'll send a Patronus back at 'em! I'm not having 'em near me, I've told you that, I'm not having it!" The barman that helped them shouts back angrily.

"That wasn't your Patronus!" A Death Eater yells. "That was a stag, it was Potter's!"

"Stag!" roars the barman, and he pulls out a wand. "Stag! You idiot — Expecto Patronum!"

Something huge and horned erupts from the wand: Head down, it charges toward the High Street and out of sight. "That's not what I saw —" the Death Eater starts, though with less certainty. They must have a share of luck at the moment considering the man's patronus is well built to be mistaken as a stag.

"Curfew's been broken, you heard the noise," one of his companions tells the barman. Spencer furrows her eyebrows in confusion; you're telling her that alarm is put because of curfew? Oh, Merlin, she is forcing herself to not barge outside and start cursing those stupid Death Eaters into oblivion. "Someone was out in the street against regulations—"

"If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned to your curfew!" Spencer raises her eyebrows in amusement. She does not know who this man is, but she likes him. Her eyes meet Ricky and they seem to have the same twinkle of emotion. "What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven't pressed your little Dark Marks and summoned him. He's not going to like being called here for me and my old cat, is he, now?"

"We saw a stag!" Another hooded figure responds back angrily.

"Stag?" the barman roars in disbelief. "It's a goat, idiot!"

Spencer covers her mouth and smiles with gratitude. He certainly knows not to act like some crazy man— if he is not one, that is. Based on it, however, he may be a crazy man, but he is not a bad one because then he would have offered them up already.

"All right, we made a mistake," the second Death Eater mutters in defeat. "Break curfew again and we won't be so lenient!"

The Death Eaters stride back toward the High Street. Hermione moans with relief, dives out from under the Cloak, and sits down on a wobble-legged chair. Harry draws the curtains tight shut, then pulls the Cloak off. Spencer closes her eyes tiredly and leans against the wall as if that will somehow regain a bit of energy. They can hear the barman down below, rebolting the door of the bar, then climbing the stairs.

The barman enters the room. "You bloody fools," he snaps gruffly, looking from one to the other of them. "What were you thinking, coming here?"

Not like they have much of a choice anymore, Spencer crosses her arms, staring at Harry for him to speak up instead. Her friend gives a look of gratitude toward the man and nods appreciatively. "Thank you," Harry mumbles. "We can't thank you enough. You saved our lives."

The barman grunts. Harry approaches him, looking up into the face, trying to see past the long, stringy, wire-gray hair and beard. Spencer widens her eyes in surprise right then noticing the fact that he looks almost like— Dumbledore? He wears spectacles. Behind the dirty lenses, the eyes were a piercing, brilliant blue. Her lips part in realization; then this must be—

"It's your eye I've been seeing in the mirror," Harry points out immediately and she turns to him in confusion. And then, she remembers about him telling them that back in the Malfoy Manor he had asked for help in the mirror Sirius gave him once upon a time and that he noticed an eye. It was him all along, Spencer notes to herself. There is silence in the room. Harry and the barman look at each other intensely. "You sent Dobby."

The barman nods and looks around for the past elf. "Thought he'd be with you. Where've you left him?"

Spencer frowns when Harry's gaze falls to the floor as he answers, "He's dead. Bellatrix Lestrange killed him."

The barman's face— Aberforth Dumbledore's face is impassive. After a few moments he murmurs, "I'm sorry to hear it. I liked that elf." He turns away, lighting lamps with prods of his wand, not looking at any of them.

"You're Aberforth," Harry announces to the man's back. He neither confirms nor denies it, but bends to light the fire. "How did you get this?" Harry asks, walking across to Sirius's mirror.

"Bought it from Dung 'bout a year ago," Aberforth answers. "Albus told me what it was. Been trying to keep an eye out for you."

Spencer tilts her head in surprise, her eyes softening at his claim. Beside her, Ron gasps and exclaims excitedly, "The silver doe! Was that you too?"

She makes a face at him and stares at Ron oddly. "Didn't you see that his Patronus is a goat?"

"Oh," Ron remembers. "Yeah... well, I'm hungry!" he adds defensively as his stomach gives an enormous rumble. Spencer cannot fully argue with him since she too wants to eat at least something. The only thing she has in her system is the pumpkin juice they drank back by the lake.

"I got food," Aberforth claims, and he slides out of the room, reappearing moments later with a large loaf of bread, some cheese, and a pewter jug of mead, which he sets upon a small table in front of the fire. Without wasting any time, Spencer practically zooms toward the area and grabs a short piece of everything. Ravenous, they eat and drink, and for a while there is silence but for the crackle of the fire, the clink of goblets, and the sound of chewing. By the end, Spencer feels a tad more better than before.

"Right then," Aberforth starts when they have finish eaten. Harry and Ron sits slumped dozily in their chairs. Spencer leans back on her own having had a good amount where she does not feel light-headed (like the time she did not eat and passed out) but also not extremely full. "We need to think of the best way to get you out of here. Can't be done by night, you heard what happens if anyone moves outdoors during darkness: Caterwauling Charm's set off, they'll be onto you like bowtruckles on doxy eggs. I don't reckon I'll be able to pass off a stag as a goat a second time. Wait for daybreak when curfew lifts, then you can put your Cloak back on and set out on foot. Get right out of Hogsmeade, up into the mountains, and you'll be able to Disapparate there. Might see Hagrid. He's been hiding in a cave up there with Grawp ever since they tried to arrest him."

Spencer chins up having an idea now where Hagrid is. However, she knew none of them will be leaving— not even Ricky who she wishes can say that he no longer wants to be with them and will head back to safety. Unfortunately, as she takes a look at him, she can see how determined he is. There is no point in changing his mind because when he started, he had been afraid. Now? Ricky Adams is a young man who has grown past his own fear and is willing to do anything to defeat Voldemort and be right besides her. It is such loyalty that they have for each other and while it is great... Spencer knows it may also be their downfall because to her, her friends are her family and she would give up her own life to protect and save them. And despite how scared he is of death, she knows Ricky would do the same. How stupid for a pair of Ravenclaws, right? Aren't they the ones that are supposed to believe in logic over emotions?

"We're not leaving," Harry denies. "We need to get into Hogwarts."

"Don't be stupid, boy," Aberforth scoffs. No one disagrees with the fact that what they will be doing is possibly one of the most stupidest ideas to have exist. Spencer wishes there is another way. That today or tomorrow is not the day where they have to finish everything and begin fighting for their lives. Except... even her mind is lost in this. They are working together side-by-side and it relaxes her brain even more, but they cannot come up with another idea.

"We've got to," Harry defends them.

The older man rolls his eyes and leans forward. "What you've got to do is to get as far from here as you can," he warns them strictly.

"You don't understand. There isn't much time. We've got to get into the castle. Dumbledore — I mean, your brother — wanted us —" The firelight makes the grimy lenses of Aberforth's glasses momentarily opaque, a bright flat white.

"My brother Albus wanted a lot of things," Aberforth interrupts coldly, "and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out his grand plans. You get away from this school, Potter, and out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He's gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don't owe him anything."

If only it were that easy, Spencer lets her eyes wander around the room. If only Harry did not have to be the one to be pressured into stopping Voldemort. If only Spencer was born into a loving family where she would not have to worry about being killed by her aunt or by— Morgana... Her eyes widen in alert and they begin to water, panic slowly filling up her insides.

Spencer has almost forgotten about her sister. Morgana Montague, who tortured her when they last saw each other. The person that she used to crave would love her back. Someone she cannot help but despise so greatly because of how she ruined her and yet— part of her still loves her. And it is so horrible how that part is still there in her because she can hate someone like Umbridge, but she cannot hate her own sister? Not even when she absolutely does? Spencer forces herself to stop thinking about all the 'what if' with her. If she continues... she might not be able to fight her. And she has to fight her because she knows that Morgana has tortured students at Hogwarts and that if given the chance she will kill Spencer just like how she planned to back in her sixth-year.

Do not panic, it's a soft whisper that sounds like her own voice, but it is inside her head and different to when she talks to herself. The thoughts about Morgana fade away and a familiar handsome boy is shown inside her mind. Spencer feels her alarm vanish as she can see Blaise so clearly that it seems like he is there with her. Her eyes close in relaxation before another figure appears beside him and gives her a charming grin— Theodore. The shorter boy of the two seems to say something that causes the taller one to roll his eyes and even though it is just her imagination... she knows that it develop this image because of how they always act around each other. Do they like each other now? Are they friends? Most importantly— do they miss her and Ricky? Or have they chosen to move along having no inspiration nor hope (and none that she can blame them for) in their system?

"Did he now?" Aberforth's louder voice interrupts her thoughts. Spencer returns her attention to Harry and Dumbledore (Albus's brother....? How does she refer to him?). "Nice job, I hope? Pleasant? Easy? Sort of thing you'd expect an unqualified wizard kid to be able to do without overstretching themselves?"

Ron gives a rather grim laugh. Ricky makes a slight face of agreement. "I-it's not easy, no," Harry clears his throat. "But I've got to —"

"'Got to'? Why 'got to'? He's dead, isn't he?" Aberforth scoffs roughly. "Let it go, boy, before you follow him! Save yourself!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

Isn't that a billionaire dollar question? Why don't they just save themselves? Spencer, unfortunately, knows the answer for all of them. That is the downside of caring. They feel tremendous guilt, worry, fear— all of those wrapped into one where it makes a person go absolutely insane. Sometimes, she wonders how it would be like to be in Morgana's shoes? Having that ability to not sympathize with others? To simply not care about the worries of the world and instead focus on themselves? Spencer frowns. That would be a very lonely life, wouldn't it? Not caring about anyone... she cannot imagine how horrible it is.

"But you're fighting too, you're in the Order of the Phoenix —"

"I was," Aberforth corrects. "The Order of the Phoenix is finished. You-Know-Who's won, it's over, and anyone who's pretending different's kidding themselves. It'll never be safe for you here, Potter, he wants you too badly. So go abroad, go into hiding, save yourself. Best take these four with you." He jerks a thumb at Spencer, Ron, Ricky, and Hermione. "They'll be in danger long as they live now everyone knows they've been working with you."

"I can't leave," Harry continues to argue. "I've got a job that I—"

"Give it to someone else!"

"I can't. It's got to be me, Dumbledore explained it all —"

"Oh, did he now? And did he tell you everything, was he honest with you?"

And this argument here reminds Spencer of when they first read Rita Skeeter's work about Dumbledore's life. The one where she accused him of only seeing Harry as a simple pawn— looking back at it, her comment was extremely rude, but she also does not regret it. She just does not get it. Why couldn't Dumbledore just tell Harry all the truth instead of keeping it a riddle? And this is coming from a girl who loved to answer riddles when entering her common room at Hogwarts! This is war— Harry is fighting against Voldemort who is known now as one of the darkest wizards and Dumbledore decided not to tell him everything?

"I knew my brother, Potter. He learned secrecy at our mother's knee. Secrets and lies, that's how we grew up, and Albus... he was a natural," the man speaks almost bitterly. Aberforth's eyes travel to the painting of the girl over the mantelpiece. It is the only picture in the room. There is no photograph of Albus Dumbledore, nor of anyone else. Spencer knows immediately the girl there must be the sister, Ariana Dumbledore.

All of them stay quiet not knowing what else to say. At least, until Hermione speaks in a low voice, "Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much."

So they both still disagree on that, Spencer thinks to herself and stays quiet knowing it is not best to argue with her friends. Not now. Not with what they were about to do...

"Did he now?" Aberforth questions. "Funny thing, how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he'd left 'em well alone."

Spencer snaps her head toward him and narrows her eyes in surprise. "What do you mean?" Hermione asks breathlessly.

"Never you mind," Aberforth glares.

"But that's a really serious thing to say!" Hermione argues. "Are you — are you talking about your sister?"

Aberforth scoffs at her: His lips move as if he is chewing the words he is holding back. Then he burst into speech. "When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, set upon, by three Muggle boys. They'd seen her doing magic, spying through the back garden hedge: She was a kid, she couldn't control it, no witch or wizard can at that age. What they saw scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn't show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it."

Ricky turns into a color paler than white. He closes his eyes in pity while Spencer frowns noticeably. Aberforth stands up and suddenly appears terrible in his anger and intensity of his pain. "It destroyed her, what they did: She was never right again. She wouldn't use magic, but she couldn't get rid of it; it turned inward and drove her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn't control it, and at times she was strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet and scared and harmless. And my father went after the bastards that did it," Aberforth pauses before continuing, "and attacked them. And they locked him up in Azkaban for it. He never said why he'd done it, because if the Ministry had known what Ariana had become, she'd have been locked up in St. Mungo's for good. They'd have seen her as a serious threat to the International Statute of Secrecy, unbalanced like she was, with magic exploding out of her at moments when she couldn't keep it in any longer. We had to keep her safe and quiet. We moved house, put it about she was ill, and my mother looked after her, and tried to keep her calm and happy."

"I was her favorite," he continues and as he said it, a grubby schoolboy seems to look out through Aberforth's wrinkles and tangled beard. "Not Albus, he was always up in his bedroom when he was home, reading his books and counting his prizes, keeping up with his correspondence with 'the most notable magical names of the day,' " Aberforth sneers. "He didn't want to be bothered with her. She liked me best. I could get her to eat when she wouldn't do it for my mother, I could get her to calm down when she was in one of her rages, and when she was quiet, she used to help me feed the goats. Then, when she was fourteen... See, I wasn't there," Aberforth gulps. "If I'd been there, I could have calmed her down. She had one of her rages, and my mother wasn't as young as she was, and ... it was an accident. Ariana couldn't control it. But my mother was killed."

Spencer feels a mixture of pity and repulsion. For a moment, she wants to ask if Ariana Dumbledore has been what they have come to know as an 'Obscurial'. Except, she does not question it because she knows the answer. An obscurial is a young wizard— or witch like in Ariana's case, who developed a dark parasitical magical force, known as an Obscurus, as a result of their magic being suppressed through psychological or physical abuse. There are not evil in any way, but their powers seem to have that effect on people. She remembers reading Newt Scamander's journal where he specifically wrote that they are not bad people but are those in the need of help. She pities them for that reason. Being seen as something horrid because of the traumatic event that occurred and completely changed them?

"So that put paid to Albus's trip round the world with little Doge. The pair of 'em came home for my mother's funeral and then Doge went off on his own, and Albus settled down as head of the family. Ha!" Spencer gazes at the man sadly. Aberforth spits into the fire. "I'd have looked after her, I told him so, I didn't care about school, I'd have stayed home and done it. He told me I had to finish my education and he'd take over from my mother. Bit of a comedown for Mr. Brilliant, there's no prizes for looking after your half-mad sister, stopping her blowing up the house every other day. But he did all right for a few weeks... till he came."

And now a positively dangerous look creeps over Aberforth's face. "Grindelwald. And at last, my brother had an equal to talk to, someone just as bright and talented as he was. And looking after Ariana took a backseat then, while they were hatching all their plans for a new Wizarding order, and looking for Hallows, and whatever else it was they were so interested in. Grand plans for the benefit of all Wizardkind, and if one young girl got neglected, what did that matter, when Albus was working for the greater good?"

Hermione pales at his words while Spencer seems unsurprised by it. The man pauses to take a deep breath before continuing, "But after a few weeks of it, I'd had enough, I had. It was nearly time for me to go back to Hogwarts, so I told 'em, both of 'em, face-to-face, like I am to you, now," and Aberforth looks down at Harry, and it takes little imagination to see him as a teenager, wiry and angry, confronting his elder brother. "I told him, you'd better give it up now. You can't move her, she's in no fit state, you can't take her with you, wherever it is you're planning to go, when you're making your clever speeches, trying to whip yourselves up a following. He didn't like that. Grindelwald didn't like that at all. He got angry. He told me what a stupid little boy I was, trying to stand in the way of him and my brilliant brother... Didn't I understand, my poor sister wouldn't have to be hidden once they'd changed the world, and led the wizards out of hiding, and taught the Muggles their place?"

Ricky places his hand over his mouth and it seems like he is about to throw up. Spencer cannot blame him and despite all the good Dumbledore may have given them, she does not think he is too good of a man. Sure, she might respect him just a bit, but because he had given Hogwarts a safe place when he was alive. But does she like him? No.

"And there was an argument... and I pulled out my wand, and he pulled out his, and I had the Cruciatus Curse used on me by my brother's best friend — and Albus was trying to stop him, and then all three of us were dueling, and the flashing lights and the bangs set her off, she couldn't stand it—" The color starts draining from Aberforth's face as though he has suffered a mortal wound.

"— and I think she wanted to help, but she didn't really know what she was doing, and I don't know which of us did it, it could have been any of us — and she was dead," by the last sentence, his voice has dropped down even lower and it breaks on the last word. Aberforth drops down into the nearest chair. Spencer swallows down her own tears wanting to escape, but her face is completely sickened with horror.

"I'm so... I'm so sorry," Hermione whispers.

"Gone," croaks Aberforth. "Gone forever."

He wipes his nose on his cuff and clears his throat. "'Course, Grindelwald scarpered. He had a bit of a track record already, back in his own country, and he didn't want Ariana set to his account too. And Albus was free, wasn't he? Free of the burden of his sister, free to become the greatest wizard of the —"

"He was never free," Harry interrupts suddenly and surely. Spencer stares at him in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?" Aberforth glares.

"Never," Harry admits. "The night that your brother died, he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind. He started screaming, pleading with someone who wasn't there. 'Don't hurt them, please ... hurt me instead.'"

Spencer looks at him in shock. She glances at the others and notices the similar expression on her face— Harry never gone into details about what had happened on the island on the lake. It was merely mentioned because of everything that happened afterwards.

"He thought he was back there with you and Grindelwald, I know he did," Harry tells them, "he thought he was watching Grindelwald hurting you and Ariana... It was torture to him, if you'd seen him then, you wouldn't say he was free."

Aberforth seems lost in contemplation of his own knotted and veined hands. After a long pause he asks, "How can you be sure, Potter, that my brother wasn't more interested in the greater good than in you? How can you be sure you aren't dispensable, just like my little sister?"

Spencer glances at Ricky and the two of them share a look of confusion and unsureness.

"I don't believe it. Dumbledore loved Harry," Hermione shakes her head in defense for the dead wizard.

"Why didn't he tell him to hide, then? Why didn't he say to him, 'Take care of yourself, here's how to survive'?" Aberforth shoots back. See, now that is just different from what she believes in (except she does with the last part). Perhaps Harry is the one who has to stop all of this, however, the only problem she had with it is that Dumbledore did not tell him everything! How can he expect a seventeen year old boy to figure out these problems on his own with the four of them? Just because she has an eidetic memory does not make her some sort of powerful figure. Her mind is just big on its own because of how much she read and how she remembers every detail to the core because that is all she did as a child.

"Because," Harry starts before Hermione could answer, "sometimes you've got to think about more than your own safety! Sometimes you've got to think about the greater good! This is war!"

"You're seventeen, boy!"

"I'm of age, and I'm going to keep fighting even if you've given up!"

"Who says I've given up?"

"'The Order of the Phoenix is finished,' " Harry repeats smartly. "'You-Know-Who's won, it's over, and anyone who's pretending different's kidding themselves.'"

"I don't say I like it, but it's the truth!"

"No, it isn't," Harry argues. "Your brother knew how to finish You-Know-Who and he passed the knowledge on to me. I'm going to keep going until I succeed — or I die. Don't think I don't know how this might end. I've known it for years."

Spencer clenches her hand at his last words. No, no, Harry cannot die, she repeats in her own head. He's like a brother to her if he dies— Merlin, he should not have been prepared to die at all.

"We need to get into Hogwarts," Harry speaks again after the moment of silence. "If you can't help us, we'll wait till daybreak, leave you in peace, and try to find a way in ourselves. If you can help us — well, now would be a great time to mention it."

Aberforth remains fixed in his chair, gazing at Harry with the eyes that are so extraordinarily like his brother's. At last, he clears his throat, gets to his feet, walks around the table, and approaches the portrait of Ariana. "You know what to do," he murmurs.

Spencer furrows her eyebrows and then raises them when the portrait smiles and turns. Then, she walks away, not as people in portraits did (out of the sides of their frames), but along what seems to be a long tunnel painted behind her. They watch her slight figure retreating until finally she is swallowed by the darkness.

"Er — what — ?" Ron begins.

"There's only one way in now," Aberforth sighs. "You must know they've got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends, dementors all around the boundary walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded. How you expect to do anything once you get inside it, with Snape in charge and the Carrows as his deputies... well, that's your lookout, isn't it? You say you're prepared to die."

"But what... ?" said Hermione, frowning at Ariana's picture. Spencer cannot blame her because she is puzzled as well.

A tiny white dot has reappeared at the end of the painted tunnel, and now Ariana is walking back toward them, growing bigger and bigger as she comes. But there is somebody else with her now, someone taller than she is, who is limping along, looking excited. Spencer squint her eyes before they widen in surprise. Her mouth opens in shock and a slight smile grows on her face when she spots the familiar boy. His hair is longer than she has ever seen it: He appears to have suffered several gashes to his face and his clothes are ripped and torn. Larger and larger the two figures grow, until only their heads and shoulders fill the portrait. Then the whole thing swings forward on the wall like a little door, and the entrance to a real tunnel is revealed. And out of it, his hair overgrown, his face cut, his robes ripped, clambers the real Neville Longbottom, who gives a roar of delight, leaps down from the mantelpiece, and yells, "I knew you'd come! I knew it, Harry!"

(And there it was— the start of what feels like the complete end. This time, however, Spencer feels the surge of energy run through her veins knowing that this was it).

▂✫⌒*･ﾟ

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
we have finally reached the endgame.