Chapter 599 - Potter’s Cottage (2/2)
”And then Kendra passed away so very suddenly,” Bathilda lamented. ”Poor girl, Ariana was never quite the same after that. Oh, I'm certain that you did your best Albus, yes, you did. But you always had that long, crooked nose of yours stuck in a book and never paid much of a mind to that poor chit. Mm, if only Aberforth had not been still at Hogwarts's, perhaps, things would have been so very different.”
Bathilda let out a loud sigh as she says, ”And then my poor misguided great-nephew, Gellert arrived that summer. Oh, the two of you were as thick as thieves, I can clearly recall. The two of you always had your heads bent over some book and were avidly discussing some obscure piece of knowledge.”
”And then Ariana died,” Bathilda faltered. ”Gellert fled that night, and the rest is history and one that we all know only too well and regret.” Raising her gaze to meet that of Albus's, she hesitantly finally asks a question that had been haunting her for countless years. ”Gellert didn't have anything to do with Ariana's sudden death, did he, Albus?”
Albus is silent for a moment, before carefully answering, ”Not that I know of.” Because it was the bitter truth. It could have easily been his own spell that had struck down his own flesh and blood.
Relieved Bathilda solemnly says, ”Best not to blame yourself, Albus, it was a mere accident,” causing Albus's eyes to glitter with raw emotion.
Turning her white-haired head, Bathilda points at the former residence of the Dumbledore family. ”A lovely muggleborn family lives there now, Sue and Allen Pier. The wife is a bit too chatty if you ask me, but the husband is a hard worker, and their children aren't too awful.”
Albus is unable to respond except to briskly nod his head. He had sold the old family home unable to abide with the tortuous memories found therein. Aberforth had fought Albus with tooth and nail indignant over the sale, but in the end, Albus had prevailed. It had been another mistake, and the final nail that had nailed the coffin shut. After that, his younger brother, Aberforth never spoken to him again except in passing at the Hogs Head Inn.
”Would you like to come in for a cup of tea, lad?” Bathilda asked as she wrapped her black shawl tighter around her.
”No, thank you, Madam Bagshot, I am in hurry,” Albus sincerely answered with a tinge of relief in his voice.
Bathilda sniffs, before wagging her old, crooked finger at him. ”Then I best be seeing you come down to the village to have a cup of tea with this old witch, you hear, young man.”
”Yes, Professor Bagshot,” Albus respectfully replied to his former History Professor.
Bathilda removes a hankie from her pocket and loudly blows, before shuffling away up and through the garden path to her own home. Albus remains still in place until the old witch enters her home. Dragging his sight from his old childhood residence, Albus all but flees down the road unable to bear the painful sight. But some ghosts are not made of the flesh nor the dead, but rather of memories from the past.