Ternion || Oliver Wood

Chapter 137

Ariana Dumbledore

"Mr. Dumbledore?" said Hermione rather timidly as Aberforth's eyes traveled to the painting of the girl over the mantelpiece. "Is that your sister? Ariana?"

"Yes," said the old man tersely. "Been reading Rita Skeeter, have you, missy?"

I looked over to Hermione. Even by the rosy light of the fire it was clear that Hermione had turned red.

"Elphias Doge mentioned her to us," I uttered, trying to spare Hermione.

"That old berk," muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. "Thought the sun shone out of my brother's every orifice, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it."

We kept quiet.

"Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much," said Hermione in a low voice.

"Did he now?" said Aberforth. "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."

"What do you mean?" I asked breathlessly.

"Never you mind," said the old man.

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

Aberforth glared at her: His lips moved as if he were chewing the words he was 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."

My eyes widened at what I heard. Hermione's eyes were also huge in the firelight; Ron looked slightly sick, while Harry stiffened. Aberforth stood up, tall as the late headmaster, and suddenly terrible in his anger and the 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."

Aberforth looked like he was in pain, on the verge of crying upon remembering his younger sister's pain and sorrow.

"And my father went after the bastards that did it," said Aberforth, "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, and put it about that she was ill, and my mother looked after her, trying to keep her calm and happy." he told us.

"I was her favorite," he said, and as he said it, a grubby schoolboy seemed 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,'" the old man sneered. "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."