𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒-ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕪 ℙ𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣❥

𝐃𝐇 𝟐𝟕

"Neville - what the - how - ?"

But Neville had spotted Emily, Ron and Hermione, and with yells of delight was hugging them too. The longer Emily looked at Neville, the worse he appeared: One of his eyes was swollen yellow and purple, there were gouge marks on his face, and his general air of unkemptness suggested that he had been living rough.

Nevertheless, his battered visage shone with happiness as he let go of Hermione and said again, "I knew you'd come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!"

"Neville, what's happened to you?"

"What? This?" Neville dismissed his injuries with a shake of the head. "This is nothing. Seamus is worse. You'll see. Shall we get going then? Oh," he turned to Aberforth, "Ab, there might be a couple more people on the way."

"Couple more?" repeated Aberforth ominously. "What d'you mean, a couple more, Longbottom? There's a curfew and a Caterwauling Charm on the whole village!"

"I know, that's why they'll be Apparating directly into the bar," said Neville. "Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot."

Neville held out his hand to Hermione and helped her to climb up onto the mantelpiece and into the tunnel; Ron followed, then Neville.

Harry addressed Aberforth.

"I don't know how to thank you. You've saved our lives twice."

"Look after 'em, then," said Aberforth gruffly. "I might not be able to save 'em a third time."

Harry clambered up onto the mantelpiece and through the hole behind Ariana's portrait.

Emily lingered beneath the portrait hole, her hand resting on the crumbling stone. She couldn't bring herself to climb through — not yet. Her throat felt tight, her heart an ache she didn't know how to name.

"I wish you hadn't sent my brother," she whispered, her voice trembling with the accusation she'd been holding in.

Aberforth's expression softened, years of weariness settling into the deep lines of his face. "I know."

"He died saving me," Emily continued, louder this time, anger and sorrow clashing beneath her skin. "Because of the story you told him — he felt like he had to save me."

"No," Aberforth said firmly. He stepped closer, his gaze steady — not cold, but honest. "It wasn't the story that drove him. That boy... he made his own choice. Brothers always do." His voice cracked, just faintly. "It's a curse we're born with — the instinct to throw ourselves into the fire if it means our sister gets to walk out alive."

Emily blinked rapidly, fighting the sting behind her eyes.

Aberforth cleared his throat. "As much as I disagree with whatever madness you three are about to dive into... go. Go, and don't let your brother's sacrifice be for nothing."

Emily swallowed hard.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For saving us. For... everything."

Aberforth nodded once. "Off you go," he murmured gruffly.

He stood there, one hand braced against his bar, watching as Emily finally climbed into the portrait passage. Her silhouette flickered in the firelight — determined, terrified, so achingly young.

For a long moment, he didn't move.

And then a painful realization struck him like a physical blow:

She reminded him of Ariana.

The same fierce heart.
The same doomed bravery.
The same desperate need to protect and be protected.

Dumbledore had seen it long ago. Aberforth had refused to — until now.