Chapter 808 - Godric’s Hollow Ⅱ (1/2)

In the well-sized English village of Godric's Hollow past the little lane that curves left is the heart of the village set in the small-town square. There are several shops, a post office, a pub, and even a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright in the late evening from the lighting found inside. It was cold and wet and even the pub was empty as the last night-stragglers had returned home for the evening after drinking.

The village streetlamps brightly lit the main square. However, the residents were all inside getting ready for bed, and a few still sitting in front of the television watching a late-night show. None noticed the wizard that had appeared on the edge of the square who merely stood staring out at the village.

Aberforth releases a loud sigh causing a puff of fog to appear before him. It was not that he hated Godric's Hollow but far too many emotional memories remained behind in the village. It was here where they had lived as a family and it was here where their family had come to an end. It was a feeling of love and hate, nostalgia and bitterness, the complexity of all human emotions.

Aberforth eyes the church and shakes his head. He'd stop by to visit the family graves on his way back. Maybe, he'd even invite Albus. It was the least he could do.

Aberforth hurries down the road and moves past the home of Bathilda Bagshot, before coming to a halt. He had not had the courage to gaze at their former home and yet there it was over in the distance glowing a warm welcoming yellow with a stream of smoke emerging from the fireplace. For a moment, he closed his eyes unable to bear the heartache, before the moment passed like a bad dream. They had left long ago and all that lingered were their memories like ghosts that haunted him.

Opening his eyes, Aberforth is about to move away, when a raspy, old familiar voice complains, ”Aberforth, it is almost rude not to stop by and say hello to this old witch!”

Aberforth slowly turns to face the source of the voice standing at the entrance of the garden gate. A petite witch with wispy white hair stands between the hedge opening. Her eyes are sunken with age and there are traces of liver spots on her face. Her black shawl is tucked around her along with a thick fur robe. Bathilda Bagshot scrunches her eyes and nose at him and says, ”Aberforth Dumbledore and Albus are the same as ever much too proud and arrogant for your own good.”

”Professor Bagshot,” Aberforth curtly grumbled in greeting. He'd never been fond of their old History professor and much less after learning that she was the great-aunt of Gellert Grindelwald. Their lives would have been so very different if not for Gellert's arrival that summer.

Bathilda tugs her fur coat around her and shivers for a moment as if cold or perchance at the coldness of Aberforth's voice. Out of the two remaining Dumbledore family members, Aberforth had never hidden his dislike for her unlike Albus, who was always polite and kind to her. She tucks her hands further into her shawl and says, ”Well, I best going inside, it's rather cold this evening.”

”Yes, that would be for the best,” Aberforth crisply answered causing the Bathilda Bagshot to turn away and hurry inside. The sound of the door closing and opening behind her sending Aberforth moving away. All nostalgia had disappeared from his face as he passed their former child home without looking back. They were long gone and all that was left were mere shadows in the depths of his mind. For some ghosts are not made of the flesh nor the dead, but rather of memories of the past.

Down a winding small road at the edge of town, Aberforth arrived at last at a two-story cottage with a small gate, tall hedges, and importantly hidden from muggles, and those alike. Stopping at the front gates, he feels the powerful warding in place, before carefully opening the gate and allowing himself inside. The gates would not open for anyone except for a member of the Order of the Phoenix.