Isobel ━ SEVERUS SNAPE

10. A helping hand

1994 November 21, Hogsmeade
"What are you up to, little phoenix?" Aberforth Dumbledore asked, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he stole a quick glance towards Isobel. With the grace of a seasoned bartender, he reached for a bottle of Firewhiskey, expertly pouring it into a glass as he spoke.

Isobel let out a deep sigh, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the hearth. "Nothing much," she replied, her voice low and melancholic. "I'm supposed to be chaperoning the students, but right now, that is the least of my worries."

Aberforth cocked his head, sensing the gravity of her words. "That season approaches, does it not?" he asked, his tone gentle and soothing.

"Aye, barely a month and three days hence," Isobel replied, a tinge of bitterness creeping into her voice. "The season of joy and merriment, of sweet scents and twinkling lights."

Aberforth nodded in understanding, his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the fire. "Yet, you despise it."

"After that night, it lost all its lustre," Isobel murmured, her eyes growing distant. "She cherished it so, the crisp snow, the festive preparations, my mother's biscuits, and the hunt for the perfect tree. But it was all for nought after that. I've tried to replicate it all, year after year, hoping it would quell the tears, but they never came. Not even a hint of sadness, despair, or any emotion, for that matter."

"I know that feeling all too well," Aberforth replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. "The void that it leaves behind, the hollowness. We both lost a sister each, although the circumstances were different."

Isobel's eyes flickered with regret. "I regret not having met Ariana," she said softly, her voice a whisper. "Based on your tales of her, I know we would have gotten along splendidly."

"She was indeed a kindred spirit, much like you," Aberforth replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "But you have already encountered two Dumbledores, which should be more than enough for anyone."

Isobel let out a soft chuckle, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Two Dumbledores are more than plenty," she agreed, her voice warm and playful.

"And how fare the preparations for the first task?" Aberforth asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Terrifying, to say the least," Isobel replied, a shiver running down her spine at the thought. "The dragons arrived just yesterday, and they are not at all what one would expect. It baffles me that anyone could conceive of such a tournament for mere amusement...it is little more than a mission of self-destruction." Her hands gestured gracefully in the air, mimicking the movements of the dragons. "But the contestants, they are brave beyond words. To face such beasts for the glory of their respective schools is remarkable."

"Indeed, it is," Aberforth murmured, his eyes fixed on her drink. The soft flicker of the fire cast their features in a warm glow, like two old friends sharing a quiet moment. "How is Albus?"

Isobel's brow furrowed in surprise at the unexpected question. "Coping, I suppose. Every inch of the tournament reminds him of...you know."

Aberforth nodded in understanding. "I do...I'm still surprised that he told you about him."

"He tells me almost everything," Isobel replied. "His past, his grievances, his memories. I am his confidante, his keeper of secrets, for the most part. But there are still many things he keeps to himself."

"He is a private man," Aberforth remarked. "But have you forgiven him?"

Isobel's expression grew solemn. "I cannot. I have tried, but I cannot. I have accepted what happened and tried to move past it, but forgiveness is something that eludes me. I can be in his company and laugh and speak freely, but anything more than that...I don't know if I'll ever be capable of it."